The House Which Time Forgot
by VictorianChik
Summary: Early 2nd book. After Dobby's visit, Harry runs away, and Snape kidnaps him with the help of a huge dog. Snape plays mindgames and makes Harry live different miserable scenarios. Snape seems psychotic, but Harry believes some good exists in his captor.
1. Chapter 1 Vampyr and a Bat

Yes, I know I have other stories I need to finish, but I had this idea after reading the Seventh book and an article by Wellingboots that discusses the possibility of Snape bring lower class. After I got over the horroring shock, I thought there might be something there.

I tried to keep as in-character as possible, and I warn readers that this first chapter is not warm and cozy.

Tell me what you think and what you might like to see in other chapters.

Disclaimer: I own nothing here except the idea of Vampyr.

Warning: Spanking of a minor in this chapter

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Harry was not having a good summer thus far. Three weeks shy of his twelfth birthday, and everything had gone wrong. He had come back to the Dursleys happy and content from his first year at Hogwarts, and he kept telling himself that he could make it for two months. Two months – just two months. How hard could it be?

But already things had gone from good to bad to worse to awful, and before he knew it a little house elf had wrecked his aunt and uncle's dinner party. His uncle had thrown a fit, and Harry had dashed out of the house before he could get locked in the room upstairs.

As so he found himself at ten o'clock at night, standing outside in the warm July air with absolutely nowhere to go.

He wasn't quite sure how he got there. One moment Uncle Vernon was screaming about Harry's behavior, how he had ruined everything and Uncle Vernon would never work again and this was the end of his career and they would starve in the streets. The next moment, Harry found himself running towards the front door.

He didn't even remember opening the door or reaching for the handle. But the front door had flung itself open and Harry kept running.

He had no idea of where to go. He must have run a good mile before he jerked to a stop, panting and shaking from coming so far.

He was at the edge of Little Whinging, Privet Drive far behind him.

Harry flopped down on the curb, just wanting to stop and rest for few minutes. He would have to go back eventually; he really had no place else to go. But his uncle had looked angry – angrier than Harry had ever seen him, the man's fat face turning an ugly shade of red and purple as he had shouted at Harry.

Harry scuffed his toe in the dirt at edge of the street. His sneakers looked gray and faded under the dim street light. He felt tired and hungry and miserable and all alone. He wished he could see Ron or Hermione or anyone from school. If only he had something to remind him that the summer wouldn't last forever, that he had another home, and someone cared about him.

The air smelt damp. The wind began to blow clouds over the sky. Harry didn't mind – he could rarely see stars anyway. Little Whinging was too close to London, and the glare of lights from the city blotted out any sign of stars.

Absentmindedly, Harry began drawing his name with the toe of his right sneaker. He knew he had to go back shortly. Hedwig was still at the Dursleys – he couldn't risk them hurting her, and his wand was still buried at the bottom of his trunk.

All so unfair – at school everyone looked at him and whispered about him, and here no one cared. Completely unfair.

Huffing a little, he stood up, ready to make the long trek to the Dursleys. He would go back and apologize and offer to clean up. Even if they locked him up, he could make it.

He stood up, wiping his hands on the front of the trousers that nearly swallowed him whole.

A dog barked.

Harry glanced around quickly. He wasn't afraid of dogs, well, not really. He didn't mind them, and he liked Hagrid's Fang, but Aunt Marge's Ripper chased him up a tree once. And he couldn't forget the three-headed dog at Hogwarts. Then, Harry saw a dog running towards him, a big hungry-looking gray dog with its ears back and its teeth bared in a snarl.

Harry started running, hurrying towards the edge of the street where several large trees stood. The dog was closing in on him, but Harry pushed himself to run faster, a little faster, just a little more.

Gasping, he jumped up and grabbed for the lowest branch. His hands wrapped around it, and he pulled himself up off the ground.

And then something bit into his shoe. A sharp, pinching pain that cause him to loosen his grip. Harry kicked his trapped foot, but the dog held on, biting through the shoe with savage strength.

"Help me!" Harry cried out into the quiet night.

On the other side of the trees, Harry thought he saw something move, a dark shadow under the trees.

"Help!" Harry cried again.

The dog gave his shoe a vicious tug, and Harry lost his grip on the branch.

He felt himself falling backwards, and he kept falling and falling, spinning in the air. Finally, he hit the ground with a thud, rolling over several times before he came to a halt.

"Ow," he moaned, but the dog didn't stop. It growled at him and kept gnawing at his shoe.

"Stop it," Harry cried. "Go away. Leave me alone. Stop!"

Surprised by his yelling, the dog let go of his shoe, and Harry tried to get to his feet, but the dog pounced again. This time it leapt on his torso, pinning Harry to the ground while the dog worried at his chest with its nose and teeth.

Harry thrashed back and forth, sure the dog would rip his throat out if he held still for a second. Above him, the stars shone bright in the sky, shining down at him while he got mauled to death.

"Get off!" Harry yelled. "Don't eat me."

"Vampyr!" a stern male voice called out. "Heel!"

The dog lifted its head, its ears perking up. It stepped off Harry and drew back, still watching with gleaming eyes.

Harry rolled over and scrambled to his knees. He was filthy – dirt and bark clung to his clothes, and his shirt was ripped and covered in dog slobber.

But Harry got up, ready to run if the dog went after him again.

A figure was coming – Harry could see the dark shadows dragging closer, and he had a sudden dread that Voldemort had found him.

Harry turned to break into a run when a sharp voice ordered, "Hold it right there, Potter!"

Harry froze in his tracks, his mouth falling open. Snape? That was Snape's voice, but it couldn't be because Snape belonged at Hogwarts and not here in Little Whinging so close to Privet Drive.

But the figure came closer, and Harry saw Snape step into the light of the street lamp. The dog stood beside him, watching Harry carefully.

"Sn-Snape?" Harry said uncertainly.

"That's Professor Snape to you," Snape said crossly. "What are you doing out here?"

"I'm – I'm – none of your business!" Harry retorted. He felt very brave and foolish at the same time, but he didn't see why it was any of Snape's concern. They weren't at Hogwarts.

"What did you say to me?" Snape asked, an ugly gleam in his eyes.

"I'm going home," Harry announced. "I went out, and now I'm going back."

He tried to walk, but the dog jumped in his way, blocking his way.

"Make him move," Harry looked at Snape.

"Why should I?" Snape smiled coldly. "There is no Dumbledore for you to cry to now. It's just you and me and the dog."

Harry swallowed. His worst nightmare was coming true. Alone with Snape on a dark street.

"Help!" Harry yelled out. "Someone help me!"

"No one will come," Snape smiled again. "There's no one for miles."

Harry opened his mouth to yell that they were in Little Whinging and there were loads of people around. But when he looked to point the way he had come, the street had disappeared. The houses were gone, too, and all Harry could was a dark road under a single street light.

"Where am I?" he asked fearfully.

"I was on watch for you tonight," Snape said. "I followed you on that ridiculous run, and I used the collar on Vampyr to act as a Portkey."

"A what?" Harry demanded, starting to panic.

"An object used to transport people and animals from one place to another. As soon as he grabbed you, I activated it and then I Apparated as well."

"So . . . what?" Harry challenged. "Now you're going to give me over to Voldemort?"

"All in good time," Snape's smile was positively evil. "But first I'll have my own fun with you."

"I'll get away from you," Harry threatened, edging backwards. "And I'll tell Dumbledore. And McGonagall. And Hagrid!"

"Be my guest," Snape invited. "After I'm through with you, you can run and tell whomever you like. Who will believe you? You ran away from home and were abducted by your potions master? No one will listen to a word of that nonsense."

Harry wanted to shout that Snape was wrong, but he thought about the past year when he believed that Snape had wanted the Philosopher's Stone. No one had listened to him, not even Dumbledore. And Harry had no idea of where he was now except that they were far from Little Whinging.

Harry turned, ready to run, but Vampyr jumped in front of him. The dog gave a sharp bark and snap at Harry. Harry yanked his hands back just in time to keep from getting bitten, and he heard Snape chuckle from behind him.

"Ah, Potter is a slow learner, Vampyr. Very, very slow. But let's escort our guest home, and see if we can't give him a better welcome."

The dog began growling, baring his teeth and rushing forward at Harry in short jerks. Harry stumbled back, afraid of the dog's sharp teeth. Harry's foot ached, and he guessed the dog had bitten through his shoe and sock into his foot.

Vampyr leapt again, and Harry jumped far back. A hand closed around his shirt, drawing so tight Harry grabbed the front of the collar to keep himself from choking.

"Shall we go?" Snape sneered behind him. He began to pull Harry forward, walking so fast Harry could barely keep up. Snape seemed to take one step to Harry's two, and Harry hurried along on his hurt foot, trying not to limp. Vampyr ran behind, barking and pretending to bite every time Harry almost fell.

"Poor Potter," Snape sneered. "Is he hurt? Is he unable to keep up? Tragic if the dog had to rip out his throat for not following his teacher's instructions."

"Please," Harry begged as they kept going. "Please take me back."

"Beg all you like, Potter," Snape told him. "No one cares about you here. You are truly at my mercy now, and I assure you I have none."

Snape jerked to a stop, and Harry looked up to see a small house. It was old, run-down, almost Victorian with broken shutters and chipped paint.

"What do you think?" Snape sneered. "A man's home is his castle. Is this a castle, Potter? Or is it a fitting place for a poor potions master to hide away during the summer?"

"I don't know," Harry cried. "But don't take me in. Let me go – let me go, and I won't tell anyone."

"Ha!" Snape spat the word out, and he drew his wand out. He pointed it at the door and said "_Alohamora_!"

The door swung open, and Snape pushed Harry up the stairs into the dark house, Vampyr following close behind. As soon as they stepped over the threshold, candles flared to life. and Harry found himself standing in the middle of a shabby, yet cozy room with old chairs and books stacked up at random. The walls were covered in faded wallpaper, and numerous candles lit the small room up.

Snape pointed his wand at the front door. It swung shut and locked itself.

"Now, Potter," Snape swung him around so Harry could look him in the face. Unfortunately, Snape was much taller, and Harry had to gaze up, up, up to see Snape's dark eyes. Harry's panic reached neared terror, and his heart hammered in his chest.

"I'll show you to teach me some respect," Snape held him by the shoulders as Harry tried to pull away. "What should I do with you? Curse you? Hex you? Hit you? Show Dumbledore's darling prince just how special he is?"

"I'm not a prince," Harry protested, still trying to yank away. "My relatives – they aren't nice to me."

"Oh, really?" Snape scoffed. "You complain because you aren't worshiped at home like at school? Poor pathetic child."

"Let me go!" Harry hollered. "Dumbledore will know if you hurt me. He'll see the curses, and he'll know I'm not lying."

"You're right," Snape agreed, but his cruel smile unnerved Harry even further. "We can't have Precious Potter showing up with any sign of distress. I can't even hit you across the face, or they'll know."

"Yeah," Harry said shakily. "So take me back, and I'll act like this never happened."

"Or I'll hit you somewhere they can't see," Snape said.

Harry blinked for a moment, unsure of what Snape meant.

And then Snape dragged him over to a chair. The potions master took a seat and pulled Harry between his spread knees. Then with both hands, he bent Harry down over his left leg and held him down with his left arm.

"No, Snape!" Harry yelled as he felt the man hold him down tightly. "Don't! You can't."

"No one's here to stop me," Snape said as he closed his knees together, pinning Harry down so the boy couldn't slip off.

"No!" Harry pleaded, but Snape made no reply.

Harry heard the whoosh of something moving through the air, and then something hit Harry's bottom hard.

"Ow!" he protested. "Snape, stop it!"

Snape hit him again, slapping his hand down hard on Harry's bottom.

It hurt – it really hurt. His relatives had never hit him across the rear though his uncle had slapped him across the face. But this – Ow! There was another one – this seemed to hurt.

"I'm telling," Harry threatened, wincing as another hard blow came down.

Snape said nothing, and Harry couldn't turn his head back far enough to see the man's face. But the spanking continued.

Harry felt at a loss as what to do. Snape was bigger than he was, and Snape had locked the door. Harry knew struggling would do no good, and he couldn't seem to talk Snape out of it. So, Harry tried to let his body go limp and just lay there. Maybe if he didn't fight Snape, Snape would get tired of hitting him. But as the spanking went on, Harry found it hard to stay still. His whole bottom was aching horribly, and Snape occasionally had smacked the back of his legs, and still the smacks kept coming in even, sharp slaps.

Harry felt his eyes prick with tears, and his bottom lip began to tremble. He tried to bite down on it, knowing that almost twelve was too old to cry over something as childish as a spanking.

Snape slapped his hand on a spot that had been spanked at least half a dozen times, and Harry lost it.

"All right!" he cried. "All right, all right, you win. I'm sorry! I'm sorreeeeey!"

The spanks did not stop.

Harry felt tears well up in his eyes, and he couldn't help crying a bit more. "Please, Snape, please, please!"

An almighty slap landed, and Harry's whole body jerked forward. He kept crying, his tears coming harder and harder.

And then Snape shoved him to the floor.

Unprepared, Harry fell forward. He couldn't catch himself in time; his right arm hit the wooden floor first, and his wrist bend painfully as the rest of his body fell on the arm. His right hip hit the floor too, and the pain was overwhelming. Harry couldn't push himself up. He lay there in misery, choking on his own sobs.

He turned his head enough to look up at Snape, looked at him with bright green eyes full of suffering.

Snape stopped, his own dark eyes widening with some emotion Harry could not understand. And Harry did not want to understand. He sobbed again, a sad sound deep from his chest, and the tears rolled down his red cheeks as he lowered his head.

Harry tried to push himself up, at least to all fours so he could crawl away, find a corner to curl up in and cry out his pain.

Two iron hands grabbed him under the arms and pulled Harry to his feet. Harry swayed for a moment, nearly losing his balance, but the hands would not let go. Harry cradled his throbbing wrist to his chest, trying to calm down and suck in enough air.

"Serves you right," Snape snarled. "You don't feel like such a hero now, I wager."

"No," Harry moaned in distress. "No, I'm sorry."

Snape said nothing – he pulled Harry over to the side and opened a cabinet. Grabbing a small red vial, Snape uncorked it and forced it to Harry's lips. "Drink it, Potter, or I'll really give you something to cry about."

The potion tasted nasty, strong and bitter, and Harry nearly threw up. His stomach churned, and he felt dizzy and weak, and he knew he would be sick. But the potion reached his stomach, and a warm sensation came over Harry. The pain in his wrist faded away; the ache in his right hip and foot disappeared as well. But the throbbing of his bottom barely changed, and it still hurt, causing Harry to reach back and rub with one small hand.

Snape grabbed him by the back of the neck and marched him towards the hall. "We'll see a how few weeks down in the coal cellar suit you. I might even let you eat Vampyr's dog food."

Before Harry had a chance to react or start crying harder, Snape had him in a tiny hallway. However, instead of shoving him down a flight of stairs, Snape went towards an upward flight of stairs, and Harry mounted the stairs with him, utterly confused and miserable. Vampyr trotted behind him, his paws clicking on the wooden floor.

Snape pulled him into a bathroom that looked like it hadn't been updated in fifty years. Metal chains hung from the ceiling for the loo and the bathtub that stood on rusted iron feet. Snape pulled on one chain, and water began to flood into the tub.

Vampyr slunk to a corner, laying down, but still watching Harry with a hungry look. Snape ripped the tee shirt off Harry and began to undo his pants. Harry pushed once at Snape's hand, but Snape slapped at his wrists hard, and Harry dropped his hands immediately.

Snape stripped him down to his underwear, and he grabbed Harry and dropped him into the tub. The water felt hot, but not scalding, but it kept filling higher and higher. Harry wondered if Snape planned to drown him in the water. And it was awful to sit there in the water, still wearing underwear in front of a fully-clothed Snape.

Snape began rolling up his long black sleeves, a look of anticipation on his face. "Suppose we now clean the Golden Boy until he's spotless and perfect," Snape grabbed a bathbrush and a bar of soap, plunging both into the water.

Harry closed his eyes as he clung to the edge of the tub. He knew it was about to hurt, and two big tears squeezed out of his eyes as he waited for Snape to scrub his skin raw. He didn't have to wait for long; Snape began scrubbing his back first.

But rather than digging the bristles into his skin, Snape kept the pressure firm but not excruciating. And once Snape finished his back, he grabbed Harry's wrist and pulled his arm up to scrub his side. Ten minutes later, Snape pulled a wet Harry out of the bathtub and sat him on a stool.

"I'll finally get rid of this awful hair," Snape decided, snatching a straight razor blade from a small table.

Harry looked fearfully at the blade and tried to get off the stool. But Snape kept him down with one hand and began hacking at Harry's hair with the razor. Harry watched tearfully at wet chucks of his dark hair fell to the ground. His aunt had once cut his hair the same way, but his hair had reappeared the next morning. Harry wondered if it would do the same thing when a wizard cut it, but he doubted it.

A few minutes later, Snape pulled him up from the stool. Harry caught a glimpse of his reflection in the tiny mirror on the wall; he barely had any hair left. Before he had time to take in the humiliation of it all, Snape had pulled him into a tiny room, barely bigger than a closet, with an old-fashioned, iron-stand bed covered with a quilt and a rustic washstand beside the bed.

Snape pointed his wand at Harry, and Harry felt his underwear dry. Snape grabbed a long nightshirt from the end of the bed and draped it over Harry's head. Harry automatically put his hands through the sleeves, but his hands couldn't reach the end of the sleeves. Snape spelled the nightshirt smaller, and the garment shrunk until it was only slightly too big.

Harry's tears had mostly faded, but he couldn't keep his bottom lip from trembling as Snape pushed him towards the bed.

"I should keep you up all night doing chores and cleaning caldrons," Snape growled as he yanked back the quilt. "But I can torture you just as effectively in the morning. Get in bed."

Harry crawled in and laid on his side, shuddering as he tried to gulp down deep breathes.

"Arrogant little brat," Snape snapped from above him. "Just like your father, thinking you own everything and everyone, you rude, conceited, horrid, little monster."

Snape shoved Harry over onto his stomach and delivered two very hard swats to his nightshirt-covered behind. Harry burst into more tears and buried his face into the soft pillow. He hugged his arms around the pillows, sobbing and hoping Snape wouldn't hurt him anymore.

"Yes, cry all you like," Snape growled. "Not one single person cares. You're all alone, and no one's coming to help you."

Harry felt a terrible ache from deep in his chest, and he stayed still on the soft bed and prayed nothing else would happen. He felt the quilt pulling up and covering his body.

"And just so you don't think of leaving," Snape continued, "I'll let Vampyr sleep by your bed. He might be hungry so I wouldn't move too much if I were you. I would hate to come back in the morning and see that he used you as a bone. Have a nice sleep."

Snape went out and shut the door behind him, turning the room nearly pitch black save for the moonlight from the lone window. For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was Harry's labored breathing. He tried to turn over, but the bed began to squeak with any movement. Vampyr came close to bed, sniffing, and Harry went very still, trying to play dead.

The dog seemed satisfied that Harry was not going anywhere, and Vampyr settled down beside the bed on the old rug. Harry couldn't even begin to think where Snape had gotten the big dog, not that it really mattered. Though why Snape would want such a fierce dog after Fluffy had nearly torn off his leg . . .

Harry felt exhausted, barely able to keep his eyes open. He wanted nothing more than to relax into the pillow and let himself sleep. He was scared and terrified, and who knew what Snape would do to him in the morning. The dog could eat him at any moment, but Harry felt himself slipping slowly into darkness.

The last thing he heard was the gentle rumble of Vampyr's breathing as the dog watched him fade into sleep.


	2. Chapter 2 Morning Talks

Here is another chapter. I got mixed reviews on the first chapter so for the second I will say that I promise I know where I am going with this. I know my other stuff is different, but I think I should be allowed to write different things. And I stand by what I said in the intro to the other chapter. I wanted to write a story about the small house Snape lived in after I wrote one about him living in a manor.

This chapter is not as harsh as the first, but I make no promises about future chapters.

Disclaimer: I own none of it.

Warning: No full spanking, but a few stern swats.

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As the bright morning light wavered through the window, Harry opened his eyes. He stared up at the ceiling for a second, wondering where he could be. He couldn't imagine where he was – this was not the Dursleys or Hogwarts or Diagon Alley. The room lay around him in bright fuzziness, and Harry reached out for his glasses.

There was no bedside table beside the bed. Down the wall, he could barely make out what looked like an old-fashioned washstand.

Harry flung off the covers and stuck his bare feet out of the bed. A sudden growl had him yank his feet back on the bed and dive under the covers.

Vampyr stood beside the bed, growling softly as he watched Harry. Under the covers, Harry pulled his knees up tight to his chest, trying not to breathe. The events of last night came pouring into his mind, like an awful Muggle movie that he wished he had never seen. He closed his eyes and tried to think of what to do next.

He had to get out of Snape's house. One way or another, Harry knew he had to leave. He could find someone – anyone – and beg them to help him get home. Surely he could find some nice lady on the road who would take pity on him and help him get home.

Maybe he could jump out the window. Harry flung the covers off and stood up on the bed. Vampyr growled and barked, but Harry had the feeling that as long as he didn't get off the bed the dog would not bite him. Harry stood tentatively, hoping the bed would not break. His right foot felt fine; he guessed the potion had healed it along with his arm. The nightshirt felt odd as he walked to the end of the bed. The nightshirt was warm and cozy, but his knobby knees and legs looked pale and too thin as they stuck out awkwardly.

He could see the window, but he couldn't quite make out the lock. There was no point in flying across the room for the window only to find that it was tightly locked when he got there.

Strong hands suddenly grabbed him from the back, and Harry gave out a yell as he was pulled off the bed.

"So," Snape whirled him around and sat him down on the bed firmly, "you think you'll spend the morning jumping on the bed? You think you're allowed to do whatever you please, you spoiled brat?"

"No," Harry shook his head, squinting to try to see Snape's face, "I was just –"

"Quiet," Snape snapped, "no one cares about you here. Take these," he thrust the pair of glasses in Harry's hand, "and get dressed. Then come downstairs. And if I ever find you jumping on the bed again, I'll hex both your feet off."

Snape whirled on his heel and stalked out.

Shakily, Harry put the glasses on. The room came into crystal-clear focus, and he noticed the old slats of wood cutting through the slanted ceiling. Most of the room looked like servants rooms that Harry had seen in old movie about the 1800's. The walls were white-washed, the bare plaster of the walls showing through in long cracks.

Harry didn't know that much about houses, but he guessed this one wasn't any too good or fancy. Even his cupboard at the Dursleys looked newer and better kept than this room. Harry had never guessed where Snape might live in his time off from school. In a very childish way, Harry had supposed that the teachers never left Hogwarts. That was all nonsense, he knew, but part of him never thought about teachers doing anything other than teaching, and another part of him wanted them to do nothing else. Snape belonged at Hogwarts down in the dungeons, not living in old houses with a really mean dog.

The thoughts shot through Harry's head as he hurriedly got dressed with the clothes hanging on the rod of the washstand. A green tee shirt and dark green trousers. All green – all Slytherin colors – yeah, he got what Snape was trying to do.

Vampyr had trotted out the door after Snape, but the dog returned to watch Harry pull the shirt over his head. There were no socks or shoes anywhere. The house felt warm enough not to need them, but Harry supposed that Snape had denied him to make sure Harry didn't run off too fast. It would be hard to go anywhere fast barefooted.

Harry tossed his nightshirt over the edge of the bed. He considered making the bed, but then abandoned the thought. Let Snape make his own beds. Harry had been forced to sleep here, and he didn't feel like being overly polite to his captor.

The stairs creaked noisily as Harry when downstairs, Vampyr leading the way. The stairs ended in a tiny hallway, and Harry followed the dog into the doorway on the left. It led to an old-fashioned kitchen with a table and three chairs at one side. Obviously, Snape's house didn't have a dining room. Harry wondered if the house only had two rooms downstairs.

Snape grabbed two chipped bowls off a shelf and jerked his head towards the table. "Sit down."

Harry took the chair nearest to him and got into it. His feet hung a few inches from the floor, but he tried not to swing his legs. Once satisfied that their captive wasn't moving, Vampyr slunk to a corner and laid down, putting his huge head on top of his paws.

Snape set both bowls and a pot with a ladle on the table. Snape scooped up a ladle-full of what looked like thick porridge and dumped it in one bowl. He grabbed a pewter spoon and pushed both the full bowl and spoon at Harry. "Eat," Snape ordered as he filled up the other bowl.

Hesitantly, Harry scooped up a bit of the porridge. He expected it to taste like one of Snape's potions – disgusting and vomit-inducing. But the porridge was just hot and slightly sweetened. Harry would have preferred bananas and cinnamon in it, like they served at Hogwarts, but he wisely kept that opinion to himself.

They ate in cold silence, the only sound the scrape of spoons against bowls.

Harry finished his and could not help glancing quickly at the pot. There was still some porridge left, and though he had been served a full portion, Harry still felt hungry. He didn't dare say anything though.

Snape suddenly yanked Harry's bowl over. The potions master jerked up another ladle-full of porridge and slammed it in Harry's bowl. Then he shoved the bowl back at him.

"Greedy child," Snape muttered as he finished his own bowl.

Harry wanted to protest, wanted to tell Snape that he was decidedly not greedy, but Harry just kept eating. The second bowl seemed to fill him up more than the first, and halfway through, Harry thought maybe he had had enough.

He opened his mouth to say so, but Snape gave him such a wrathful look that Harry hastily shoved another spoonful into his mouth.

"Asking for more and not finishing it," Snape growled.

"I didn't ask for more," Harry said around a mouthful of porridge.

"Shut up," Snape ordered.

"What are you going to do?" Harry asked after swallowing. "You have to take me back."

"Why?" Snape leaned back, crossing his arms. He was wearing a dark shirt and trousers, but Harry thought he looked just as menacing as when he wore billowing black robes. "Why should I take you back? No one will miss you."

"Yeah, they will eventually," Harry said weakly. "My aunt and uncle –"

"What?" Snape lifted his dark brows. "Those idiotic Muggles? They'll miss their darling nephew?"

"No, I'm not!" Harry protested. "They hate me."

"Good, then they'll be glad you're gone."

Harry blinked, feeling very scared. "Well, sch-school will start."

"That's weeks away," Snape informed him.

"You can't just keep me here," Harry objected. "You don't – don't –"

"Like you?" Snape suggested.

Harry winced. He had known it all along, but it stung a little to think that a teacher from Hogwarts would admit it so openly.

"Of course, I don't like you," Snape said coolly. He got up to pour himself a cup of tea and then sat back down with a full cup. "Why should anyone like you?"

"My friends do," Harry declared. "Ron and Hermione do."

"The red-headed idiot and the know-it-all?" Snape sneered.

Harry's face burned with anger. "They are not. And Hagrid likes me."

Snape snorted.

"And McGonagall," Harry continued. "And Dumbledore. That's five people. More than you'll ever have – no one likes you!"

Snape lowered the cup menacingly. Harry shrunk back in his chair. Without meaning to, he reached back and covered his bottom, remembering how much it had hurt last night when Snape was finished with him.

"That's right, Potter," Snape hissed. "You talk to me like that again, and I'll tan your hide right then and before you go to bed. We're in my house and I make the rules."

Harry wanted to scoff "_Some house_," but he kept silent. He didn't have a death wish after all.

"You don't talk to me like that," Snape continued. "You're all alone, and no one is coming to your rescue. Especially after what you did last night."

"What did I do?" Harry cried. "I didn't do anything."

"A report of underage magic use came through," Snape told him. "Before they could send you a letter warning you not to do it again, Dumbledore contacted me."

"Wait – they send letters?" Harry asked, confused.

"Yes, if the Ministry gets a report of underage magic being used, they owl a reprimand as a warning. Dumbledore contacted me, and I went to see if there were any real difficulties. I watched your house for a while, and then you came running out. Naughty boys who run away from home deserve exactly what I gave you."

"I didn't do any magic," Harry said, his heart thudding wildly at the idea of the Ministry sending more owls to the Dursley after last year's fiasco. "Dobby did it."

"Who?" Snape demanded.

"A little house elf named Dobby," Harry protested. "He came to my room, and said I couldn't go back to Hogwarts. I said I have to, and then he ruined the dinner party. It wasn't me."

"You're lying," Snape decided flatly, "Why would the Malfoys' house elf come visit you?"

"He belongs to them?" Harry blinked. "He wouldn't say who he belonged to. But he did come and he did the magic."

"I don't believe you," Snape shook his head.

"I'm telling the truth," Harry insisted.

"Quiet," Snape ordered. "You're not going to argue with me."

It was so beastly unfair. Harry felt like kicking the table legs, but he knew Snape would lose his temper, and more than anything Harry wanted Snape to keep his temper.

"So," Harry made his voice polite and calm, "why can't I go home? Dumbledore will want to know where I am. He'll be worried."

"No, he won't," Snape smirked. "After I put you to bed last night, I owled Dumbledore to tell him that his precious student was safe at Privet Drive and that all was well. Knowing you would be safe here with Vampyr, I went back to your relatives and told them that you would be staying somewhere else for the rest of the summer. Your uncle seemed relieved – apparently he sees you for the horrid little boy you really are."

Harry could help it – his foot flung out and solidly kicked the table. The bowls rattled, and the ladle slipped down into the leftover porridge, but Snape's dark eyes flared with anger.

He stood up, and Harry leapt out of his seat.

Harry dashed for the door, and he made it all the way into the hall before Vampyr jumped in front of him. The huge dog snarled and snapped his big teeth, and Harry jumped back only to find Snape grabbing his shoulders.

"Stop!" Harry cried, feeling dangerous close to tears. "Let me go. Please, Snape just let me go. I won't tell anyone, I promised you, I'll be good. I swear, I'll be good."

Snape made no reply. He marched Harry back into the kitchen and sat him down on the chair so hard Harry nearly yelped.

"You listen to me, Potter," Snape spat, grabbing Harry under the chin and forcing his head up. "I'm not going to tolerate your sulking. So unless you'd like another punishment so soon after your last, you better listen up."

Harry raised bright, defiant eyes up to Snape. "You can't keep me here. You aren't anything to me."

Snape seemed to swell with fury, and Harry hastily added,

"No, its just – you're not related to me, and –"

"Please," Snape scoffed, "as if I would ever be related to a Potter. In your father's eyes, I wasn't fit for him to wipe his shoes on!"

"Don't talk about my dad like that," Harry exclaimed. "He was good, and so was my mum."

"I never said a word about your mother," Snape said in a very tight voice. He dropped Harry's chin and turned away angrily.

Harry felt as if he were missing something, some part of the argument that changed the atmosphere, but he didn't know what. "I – what are you going to me?"

Not facing Harry, Snape put his hands on the weathered wood of the kitchen counter, and Harry could see the muscles of his neck tighten. Then Snape whirled around and fixed Harry with a cold glare.

"I think I'll keep you for the summer," Snape announced.

Harry's eyes widened, and his mouth fell open.

"Yes, the whole summer," Snape said, smiling evilly. "And who knows, come fall I may keep you here. No one cared about you for eleven years – why should they care now if you go missing?"

"But why?" Harry croaked, pushing back tears. "If you hate me, why do you want me to stay?"

"Oh, you're not staying here as a guest. No, Potter, no special treatment for our prince. I'm keeping you as a work boy. It will be chores and scrubbing and painting and working for you all day, and early bedtimes and plain food and no friends and no playing."

Snape was enjoying his cruelty far too much, and Harry could only sit there in horror. It would be worse than living at the Dursleys because they wanted to ignore him for the most part. Snape would want to see his misery and relish it.

"And that's just the beginning," Snape went on, smirking. "If you don't do everything perfectly, I punish you like last night, only harder. And I'll use more than my hand, I guarantee it. I've never had the money to afford a servant, but you'll do quite nicely."

Harry could only sit there, horrified.

"Of course, I don't expect you to work willing," Snape commented as if they were discussing a potion lesson. "But I guess that Vampyr will keep you on task. I imagine he'll enjoy spending his day guarding my new work boy."

With that announcement, Snape stood and motioned to the table. "Clean off this table and wash the dishes. There's a pump outside, and firewood in the shed you can use to heat the water."

Harry sat as if he had been turned to stone. It was one thing for Snape to belittle him and hurt him and threaten him, but to treat him like a servant –

"Now, Potter," Snape ordered.

Harry raised rebellious eyes. "Not in a hundred years," he decided. "You can take me and keep me here, but you can't make me work."

Snape raised an eyebrow. The room got very quiet.

Snape took out his wand, his long fingers holding it delicately. "Do you have any idea the power a wizard has? I'm not talking about the silly spells you children perform at school, the ridiculous hexes you play on each other. I'm talking about true power, magic at its deepest core. Magic strong enough to torture, strong enough to maim, strong enough to kill. I know enough spells to make a full-grown man to beg for mercy, scream for death, and here you sit, a little boy with no wand, and challenge me?"

Harry looked around the kitchen, wishing he had something to help him, something to get him away from Snape.

Snape, tired of waiting, grabbed Harry by the arm and bent him over the table, stomach down.

"Hey!" Harry protested, his nose mere inches from the pot of porridge.

"You have two choices here," Snape said from somewhere above him. "I can give you a whipping and then you can get to your chores. Or you can apologize very nicely and then get started."

Harry took in a deep breath. Snape's hand rested on the middle of his back, and Harry knew he could not fight off Snape, considering Snape was bigger and had a wand.

"Well?" Snape landed his hand on Harry's bottom in a firm swat.

"Ow!" Harry huffed. "Fine, fine, all right. I'm sorry. There."

"Now, now, Mr. Potter," Snape tutted in a truly evil tone, "you can do better than that. How about 'Please, forgive me'?"

"Please forgive me," Harry grounded out between clenched teeth.

"'For being such a naughty, disobedient brat'."

"For being such a naughty, disobedient brat," Harry spat out the words.

"'Please, forgive me, Professor Snape'."

"Please, forgive me," Harry intoned.

Snape spanked him again. "'Professor Snape'."

"Professor Snape," Harry said, trying not to squirm. Part of him wanted to die from embarrassment. Another part of him wanted to kick Snape in the kneecap.

"Are you ready to get to work?" Snape demanded.

"Yes," Harry growled. He sensed Snape raising his hand again, and Harry quickly added, "Sir. Yes, sir."

"Good," Snape jerked away from him. "Get to work."

Harry stood, rubbing his stomach were it had been smashed against the table.

Snape turned to leave, and Harry suddenly burst out, "Wait!"

Snape turned around ominously.

"What about my owl?" Harry asked.

"What about her?" Snape sneered.

"I left her there, at my relatives," Harry continued, trying not to sound pathetic. "Please, let me go get her. She'll starve without me. They won't feed her."

"Then she'll have to starve," Snape shrugged.

Harry felt a ripple of rage blaze through him. He grabbed an empty bowl off the table and threw it at Snape. The potions master stepped out of the way, and the bowl clattered to the floor without breaking.

Vampyr jumped to his feet and began snarling at Harry.

"You would let Hedwig starve?" Harry cried, his bottom lip trembling. "What did she ever do to you? How – how would you like it if someone did that to you? Let your – your dog starve?"

Snape seemed to hesitate; Harry would have sworn Snape was going to say something not so terribly mean. But then the potions master gave a nasty shrug and left the room.

Harry took a step towards the hall. Vampyr came towards him, the dog's teeth bared.

"I'm not going anywhere," Harry said, his voice high-pitched and worried. "I'm getting to work. But I hope your stupid master falls over dead and no feeds you."

With that angry proclamation, Harry picked up the bowl off the floor and began clearing away the rest of the dishes. He piled all off them in the wash basin and looked around for a water bucket. He found an empty bucket in the corner and he took a tentatively step towards the outside door.

"I need to pump water," Harry told the dog. "I have to pump water to heat."

Harry very slowly opened the door and felt relieved when the dog didn't jump to attack him. For a moment, Harry had been sure Snape had given him an impossible chore – needing to get water and wood to wash the dishes but unable to get both necessities because of the dog.

Harry stepped out into the warm sunshine with Vampyr right behind him. A cluttered little garden lay behind the house, littered with pots, shovels, and a broken wheelbarrow. As Harry headed towards the rusty pump, he glanced back at the house. It looked even smaller in the daylight with a tangle of vines crawling up one side. The worn stones felt cool to his bare feet, the sun not high enough to heat the stones or evaporate the last of the morning dew.

Harry began to pump the water, the handle squeaking as he pushed it up and down. Water finally spluttered out of the pump faucet, clear and cold. Harry kept the handle going up and down until the bucket filled.

As he worked, he glanced around the garden, taking in every detail from the crumbling stone wall to the rotting wooden gate. A large oak tree stood to one edge, its branches low enough for Harry to climb up.

He didn't care what Snape said – the moment Snape wasn't watching him and Vampyr was not there, Harry planned to run as far and fast as he possibly could.


	3. Chapter 3 Chores

Another chapter - I am cranking them out.

For some of you who didn't like the first two chapters, may I ask why you continue to read? No, really, I hope this chapter pleases almost all of you, and I promise to write more on this and other stories.

Disclaimer: I don't this or make any money.

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As soon as he toted the bucket of water back into the kitchen, Harry looked around to make sure there wasn't some kind of tap that poured out hot water. It made no sense to him – why did Snape have hot water running upstairs in the bathroom and not down in the kitchen?

But then, a lot of things didn't make sense to Harry right then. Why did Snape live in such a poor house in a run-down neighbor? Snape taught at Hogwarts. Why didn't he have a better house?

Harry paused as he poured water into the kettle over the old-fashioned potbelly stove. Did teachers at Hogwarts make any money? And for that matter, did students pay to attend? Harry thought they must, but he had not given them any money that he knew of. Maybe the bank took out money from his account to give the school. But students had to pay for teachers to make money.

As he went out for more water, Harry tried to remember two years ago when he had attended Muggle school. The teachers there had talked about making money and the different jobs people could have when they grew up. A few parents had come to talk to the class – a banker, a policeman, a solicitor. The teacher had asked if anyone would like to ask their parents to come in and talk to the class. Harry had not raised his hand – he knew Uncle Vernon would not like to come and talk to his class.

Harry began pumping water up and down as he tried to remember his previous teachers. At times, his old life before Hogwarts seemed like a dream. His first year at the wizarding school had been hard, he admitted, but a bad day at Hogwarts was better than a good month at the Dursley's. Though they were some teachers at Hogwarts Harry would have preferred to never see again . . .

Vampyr barked at him, obviously thinking Harry was not moving fast enough.

"I pumping," Harry told the huge black dog. "I can't go any faster."

The dog gave a short bark and looked back at the house.

Harry pressed his lips together as he kept pumping. It wasn't fair. Snape's dog got to do whatever he wanted while Hedwig starved at the Dursley's. Harry knew he had to get back to save her, and if he couldn't – well, it was an awful thought about anything happening to Hedwig, but he would make Snape pay for it.

Snape couldn't keep him forever. And if he tried, surely Dumbledore would do something about it. If he didn't show up for school in September, they would look for him. They had to. And when Snape didn't show up, wouldn't they be suspicious?

Harry turned to go back inside when he heard a familiar hooting above him.

He whirled around and gave a cry of relief when he saw a snow-white owl gliding down towards him. Dropping the bucket, Harry ran to the middle of the yard, waving his arms towards the bird. Hedwig flew down and lighted on his shoulder, hooting gently in his ear.

"You got away," Harry grinned as he stroked his bird's downy feathers. "You got out – you're free."

Vampyr growled as he came close, his ears back against his head and his teeth showing. Harry gasped and quickly shook his shoulder. "Go, Hedwig. Fly away. Go before he gets you."

Hedwig craned her neck down to glare at the dog. She opened her beak and gave a fierce shriek. Harry panicked. Did dogs eat birds? Vampyr looked big enough to eat anything he liked, including little boys and birds.

"Go!" Harry shouted just as Vampyr charged forward.

Hedwig left Harry's shoulder just as Vampyr ploughed into him. Harry fell back with an "Oof!" He caught himself with his hands, but the soft ground didn't hurt too much. He watched in horror as Vampyr tried to bite at the bird. Hedwig kept circling over the dog, flying up to avoid Vampyr's teeth and swooping down to peck the dog on the head.

"No, fly away!" Harry yelled at his bird. "I'll be fine, just go!"

A shrill whistle cut through the morning air. Vampyr dropped back and trotted over to the doorway where Snape stood with an angry expression.

"What is all this noise?" Snape demanded. "I am trying to work, and I told you to get to work as well."

"It's Hedwig," Harry struggled to his feet, watching as his owl landed on a low branch to watch over the garden. "She got away. See, she got away by herself. You were going to let her starve, but she got free."

"Did she?" Snape asked coolly. "Well, if she won't die from starvation, we'll see how she holds up under a killing curse."

Snape pulled out his wand.

"No!" Harry shouted. He ran to his bird, facing Snape with his hands flung out wide.

"Such Gryffindor idiocy," Snape sneered. "Ready to sacrifice yourself to save a bird. How can Dumbledore bear it, knowing his savior is such a pathetic, stupid child?"

Harry held his ground. "You're not going to hurt Hedwig. She hasn't done anything."

"Oh, but she has," Snape decided. "She belongs to you, and I've made it my mission to destroy everything you love."

"Everything I-I-I –" Harry stammered.

"Yes, everything you love," Snape smiled coldly. "You see, Potter, years ago someone was kind enough to take away everything I loved, to ruin me, to rejoice in my misery. Why kind of man would I be if I did not pass on the favor?"

None of it made a bit of sense to Harry. He had always thought Snape was crazy, but now he was sure of it.

"So move out of the way, and let me deal with your bird," Snape said softly.

"Go, Hedwig," Harry yelled. "Please, fly away." He pushed his hands out at the bird in frantic shooing, and to his relief she flew off the branch.

Harry whirled to watch Snape, but the man did not move to fire off a curse, but stood calmly in the doorway.

"That's really too bad," Snape observed. "You just made it harder on yourself. I'll have to find other ways to make you miserable. Get back to work."

"Fine," Harry went to collect the bucket he had dropped in his excitement at seeing his bird. "At least she got away."

"Oh, yes," Snape scoffed. "Somehow a bird managed to free herself from a locked cage and left a locked bedroom to find you."

Harry looked towards Snape to ask what he meant by that, but Snape was already turning towards the door.

"Start your chores. After the dishes, sweep the kitchen and scrub down the stove, or there will be no lunch," Snape flung over his shoulder.

Harry went to the pump and drew more water.

Washing dishes took longer when he had to heat the water himself. He brought wood into the kitchen next and stoked the fire that had almost extinguished. He watched the water in the open iron kettle, but it didn't seem to be heating at all. He went to fetch more wood and stuffed it in the stove before going out for even more wood, the last of the pile. When he came back, the fire was blazing and water had boiled over the kettle, splashing and hissing all over the black stove.

Harry managed to push the kettle back to a cooler portion of the stove, using a dishcloth around his hands to keep them from burning.

Then he found a chipped mug and used it to ladle boiling hot water into the basin. He poured some cold water into the basin as well so he could put his hands into the water without scorching them.

In all, nearly an hour passed before all dishes were washed, dried, and put away. Tired and wet from splashing all the water around, Harry went to wipe off the table with a rag. Then he began sweeping the floor before going on to scrub the oven. He had to wait until the fire burned out and even then the stove felt very warm under the wet rag as he scoured it.

"What are you doing?" a voice demanded from behind him.

Harry jumped nearly dropping the rag. He turned to face Snape. "I was cleaning the stove, like you asked."

"You can't just clean it with water," Snape told him shortly. "You have to rub it down with blackening powder so it doesn't rust. And the ashes need to be cleaned out. Put them in the ash bucket and dump it outside in the rubbish pile and throw water over it so it doesn't light a spark."

"But I just swept the floor," Harry protested.

"That's too bad," Snape shrugged. "You'll have to do it all again."

Harry glared at him, but he knew better than to argue. Snape was probably going looking for a reason to punish him or deny him food or give him more work.

An hour later, Harry was covered in blackening powder as was a part of the kitchen. The powder stuff looked shiny and pretty in the box, but when he dipped the rag into the box, the loose flakes went everywhere. And once he started rubbing the black stuff on the cloth onto the stove, more powder fell down. Even more annoying, the powder came off the rag in little flakes but when Harry dried to wipe it up, it left long smears of black all over the worn wooden floor.

Fortunately, Vampyr decided to stay out the way and watched from a corner. Harry didn't know what he would have done if the huge dog had tracked the stuff all over the kitchen.

When a clock in the other room chimed noon, Harry heard Snape coming down the hall, and he nearly despaired. It wasn't fair – giving him a job he couldn't possibly complete.

Harry debated between continuing to work or jump up and standing to attention when Snape entered. Rather than do either, Harry settled for staring down at the black smudged floor. He saw Snape's black shoes stop right at the edge of the dirty floor.

"What is the meaning of this?" Snape demanded in a low, ominous voice.

"I'm still cleaning," Harry admitted, continuing to look away. "This stuff is – hard. It goes everywhere."

"You have ruined my kitchen," Snape said. "You deliberately –"

"I did not," Harry stood up, clutching the black rag. "I was cleaning it like the box said, but it went everywhere."

"I guess you didn't want to eat today," Snape observed.

Harry wanted to stomp his foot. He was hungry and tired, and he had no idea how he would get all the black stuff off his clothes and hands. His face felt itchy and he knew he had black smeared all over his face and probably in his hair, and he hated Snape right then.

"Fine!" he heard himself declared. "I wasn't hungry anyway."

He turned away to scrub at the top of the stove, but Snape snapped his fingers.

"Don't you turn away when I'm talking to you," Snape ordered. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you."

Harry reluctantly turned around, feeling childish.

"Though I don't care if you ever eat again," Snape said carelessly, "I won't have you fainting in the middle of your chores. You have a lot more work to do today, and I won't let you get out of it. We'll have soup for lunch, and you can drink it from the bowl since you are too dirty to eat like a human being."

Snape heated the soup himself with a flick of his wand, but he made Harry sit on his wooden chair and hold the bowl so he wouldn't get blackening powder on anything else. Harry felt good that he could at least sit up and hold the bowl; he had feared for a moment that Snape would make him lap up the soup on the floor beside Vampyr.

The dog got a huge piece of meat, and Harry tried not to watch as Vampyr tore it apart with his sharp teeth in a matter of seconds.

After lunch, Harry was sent back to cleaning. The stove and the floor took an hour to scrub, and then Snape had him start pruning the garden. Harry stood in the middle of the run-down garden while Snape listed the chores to be done.

"The bushes need to be trimmed," Snape pointed to a row of over-grown bushes. "And the pots all need watering. I have fourteen beds of smaller plants for my potions that need weeding everyday along with watering in the morning and the afternoon. All the gardening tools need cleaning, the rest of the wood needs chopping and stacking by the house, and then you can get started on trimming the grass and cutting the vines back from the wall. If you finish early, you can start weeding the around the stone path."

Snape turned and left Harry to stand in the garden of a thousand chores. Harry sighed, scuffing his bare foot on the warm stones. It looked like the garden hadn't been tended in years, and he did not see why he had to tackle the whole garden in one day.

The sun was hot, but fortunately the trees shaded most of the garden so Harry could work without melting from the heat. He rolled up the hem of his trousers, glad he wore a tee shirt, and began trimming the bushes.

Vampyr settled on the old mat in front of the door, preparing to take a midday snooze. Harry sighed as he began gathering up the cut shrubbery. Even with the dog sleeping, Harry didn't dare make a run for it. He had a feeling the dog was only pretending to sleep anyway.

Gardening was not the most tedious chore Harry had ever preformed, but it was probably the dirtiest, after blacking the stove of course. He splashed more water on himself in the process of watering the plants, and the dirt mixed in with the water to coat his clothes with mud. When he got thirsty, he went to the pump and pumped hard, leaning over to gulp at the icy water which spewed out. The water turned his lips numb and ran down his chin and shirt, cooling him instantly.

He began to drag towards the end of the afternoon. His arms hurt, and his fingers ached from pulling up weeds and grubbing in the dirt. He began to get very hungry, his stomach rumbling for food, and he longed to lie back on the warm ground and sleep.

He had an awful feeling that Snape might plan for him to work until nightfall, and if he was still in Britain, that meant until ten at night. He silently cursed the long summer days, wishing it was winter and would get dark at four in afternoon.

Harry started for the wood to chop up, and he passed a window near the door, he stopped to look at himself. He looked awful. His hair was horribly short and sticking out at angles like it had been hacked at with a knife. He was covered in black smudges and mud, and without shoes he looked like the orphan in that book he had read years who lived in a workhouse and traveled all the way to London to live with pickpockets. Snape had meant to belittle and humiliate him – Harry felt certain that Snape had succeeded.

"Why are standing about?" Snape barked from the doorway. "You've been out here all afternoon, and barely completed half your chores. I should have had Vampyr chase you a bit to get more work out of you."

"I've been working," Harry declared, wishing he wasn't quite so dirty and pitiful-looking. "I got all the bushes trimmed and everything watered, and –"

"If I had wanted excuses, I would have asked for them," Snape snapped. "You didn't finish, and it's time for supper. Wash your hands and get in. You have thirty seconds, then I'm feeding your food to the dog."

Harry washed what he could of his hands, wishing he had a bar of soap or a rag. He shook the cold water off his hands and hurried inside. It seemed dark and dim after the sunshine outside, but Harry blinked until his eyes adjusted. His glasses had little flecks of dirt on them, but he could still see.

Supper was a silent affair – they ate without a word. Halfway through the meal, Harry started yawning. He didn't mean to, but he could keep his eyes open much longer, and he could barely make himself keep chewing. He had worked hard at the Dursleys before, but never the whole day straight. At the Dursleys, he had learned to pace himself, to stretch jobs out so he wouldn't be exhausted at the end of the day. But scared of Snape and his big dog . . . Harry yawned again.

"Stop gaping and eat," Snape ordered.

"Okay," Harry nodded. He pinched himself on the thigh, hoping that would wake him up. Even the pain couldn't jar him out of his sleepy state, and he prayed that Snape wouldn't have evening chores for him.

"Lazy boy," Snape sneered. "A little work wears you to pieces, I see. Well, finish the food and you can go to bed."

Harry kept putting food in his mouth and chewing at least twice before he swallowed. He had almost eaten the last bite, when strong hands pulled him out of his chair.

"How did you get so dirty?" Snape asked, not really expecting an answer. "What would your friends say if they could see you now? Dumbledore's favorite boy, a sad-looking waif."

Harry wanted to ask Snape why he kept talking about him being Dumbledore's favorite. Harry doubted that he was indeed the headmaster's favorite, but why did Snape, a teacher at Hogwarts, feel that it was so unfair? Harry wished he could ask or protest, but he couldn't do anything other than yawn his head off as Snape pushed him out of the kitchen and down the hall.

"Arms up," Snape ordered, grabbing the edges of Harry's tee shirt and pulling it off Harry in one rough yank. "Take your trousers off, too, so you don't track mud upstairs. I'll get you some slippers to keep your dirty feet off the stairs."

Harry fumbled with his trousers as Sanpe marched back into the kitchen. Harry grabbed hold of the hall table to help balance as he stepped out of the trousers. He noticed a piece of paper and an envelope on the table.

He saw the Hogwarts crest, the coat of arms with the symbols of the four houses, and Harry just had time to read the top line of the letter – _Severus, my dear boy, I am so sorry to_ _inform_ – before Snape came back in.

"Upstairs," Snape ordered, grabbing Harry by the shoulders and pushing him towards the door. "Go up, take a bath, and get in bed. Any playing around, and I'll see you have the worst night ever."

By the time Harry had washed, brushed his teeth, and pulled on his night shirt, he felt like he had been awake for a week. Every muscle in his body was sore and tired, and it took tremendous effort to climb up in the bed.

He collapsed onto the pillow, pulled up the covers, and snuggled down into the bed on his side. He heard Snape come in, and Harry wrenched his eyes open to see the blurry black shape of the man beside his bed.

"How do you like being the work boy?" Snape sneered. When Harry did not respond, Snape smacked him on the rear. "I'm speaking to you, Potter!"

Harry gave half-groan. He was sure the smack was supposed to hurt, was supposed to make him sit up and pay attention or scare him and make him cry, but Harry felt far too tired. "Don't like it," he muttered into his pillow. "Tired – wanna sleep."

"Hmph!" Snape nodded. "Well, I guess I'm succeeding in making you good and miserable."

Harry would have glared at Snape or rolled his eyes to show he didn't care, but that took too much effort.

"And if you don't finish every single chore tomorrow," Snape threatened, "I'll take a slipper to you before supper. We'll see if a hard hiding helps keep your mind and hands on track."

Snape went on to say some more stern and grim things, his voice deep and sarcastic, but Harry couldn't listen anymore. He closed his eyes and let Snape's voice fade away.

Another smack landed on his rear, but he couldn't tell if it was a listen-to-me smack or you-better-behave smack. Either way, Snape walked away from the bed with a satisfied "Hmph!"

Harry heard Vampyr settled down beside the bed, but Harry was already half-asleep. A few minutes later, he was so deep into slumber that he did not hear Hedwig land on the eave outside his window.

The owl hooted once or twice, but getting no answer, she spread her wings and went to search for mice in nearby fields. She returned right before dawn, but the house was still dark and quiet under the shadows of the tall trees.


	4. Chapter 4 More Changes

All right, currently I am in Berlin, Germany and it's really late here. I know this chapter has mistakes, but we will be touring all tomorrow and then getting ready to celebrate the New Year the German way so I post it now or several days from now. I'll try to edit it further later, but I wanted to give you all something to read. It's short, I know, but blame it on all the cool things to do here.

I promise to write more once I get back to the good old USA.

Disclaimer: I own nothing here.

Warning: Brief discipline scene.

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When Harry awoke the next morning, the first thing he noticed was the soreness of his muscles. Soreness did seem strong enough a word to describe what he was feeling. His whole body ached, each muscles crying out in tired, worn pain. Everything felt stretched and pulled and raw.

He turned over, trying not to whimper, and decided right then and there he was not getting out of bed. He could see the morning light lingering through the window, but Harry screwed his eyes shut tightly and stayed still.

Vampyr, sensing he was awake, stood and growled at Harry, a rumbling noise deep in the dog's chest.

"No," Harry said into the side of his pillow, "go away."

Vampyr growled louder.

"No," Harry insisted, still refusing to budge or open his eyes, "I'm not getting up."

The dog gave a sharp bark.

Harry stuck his tongue out.

Vampyr jumped and put his front paws on the bed. The bed gave a creak, and Harry tried to squirm deeper into the bed. The dog began to nuzzle his nose against Harry's shoulder, pushing hard enough to tell him to get out of bed and get ready for the day.

"No, I'm tired," Harry complained as he rolled on his back and pushed himself down into the mattress. "You can bully me all you like – I'm not getting up."

Vampyr barked angrily and began to worry his snout and teeth into Harry's side. But rather than hurt, the dog's movement hit a particularly ticklish area on Harry, and he gave out a scream of laughter.

"St-stop!" he wailed, desperately pushing at the dog's head. "Get away from me. "I'm tired – I'm hurting – I hate you and I want to go back to – stop!"

He tried to scramble away from the dog, and Vampyr kept worrying at him, and Harry soon tumbled out of the bed.

Falling on the hard floor did not help his sore muscles, and Harry curled up on his side, bringing his knees up and tucking his hands against his chest.

"Still not moving," he told the dog. "So you can just –"

"What is this!" Snape demanded hotly from the doorway.

Harry looked up at him, scared for a second. But then his stubbornness kicked in and he put his head back down on the floor. "I'm sore," he said. "I'm not getting up."

"Listen to me, you spoiled brat," Snape ordered, "you'll get up this second if you know what's good for you. You have your chores from yesterday, and a whole new list for today. Get up and get dressed this second."

Harry didn't move.

"Are you stupid enough to want a whipping this early?" Snape asked coldly.

Harry tried to push himself up, but his chest ached and his shoulders throbbed, and he flopped back down. He knew he should make an effort to try again, knew that he couldn't let Snape get to him. Every survival instinct in Harry told him to start moving and get up, but he continued to lay there.

"Get up," Snape gave him a rough nudge, almost a kick, with the toe of his right shoe.

Harry curled into a tighter ball.

"I would step on you," Snape sneered, "but you aren't good enough for me to wipe my shoes on. You're nothing but a disgusting, horrid, worthless little brat of boy whose friends have abandoned him –"

Harry hit the top of Snape's shoe with a fist.

"Ah, there's that Potter rebellion I know so well," Snape said, clearly enjoying sounding just as evil as he could. "No more sulking for you, young man. You just had a taste yesterday of the work that awaits you."

"Well, you mucked it all up," Harry declared, wondering how long he would get to lie on the hard floor before Snape had had enough. "I can't do anything now. You worked me too hard."

"I did no such thing," Snape scoffed. "A wiry thing like you – you can work twice as hard as most boys. But if your weak muscles are the only source of your complaint, I shall fetch a potion for you at once so you can get started."

Snape actually whirled around and left the room. Harry raised his head to make sure he had gone.

Vampyr trotted after his master into the hallway.

Despite aching muscles and sore limbs, Harry scrambled to his feet and half-ran, half-limped to the door. He shut it quickly and turned to rush towards the window. Vampyr gave a bark of angry surprise from the hallway. Harry heard the dog bumping his head against the door, trying to get in, but Harry was already at the window. He fumbled with the latch until he got the window open.

The windows swung out over a roof ledge that sloped down for a few feet, but Harry thought he could lower himself by his arms and then jump the rest of the way once he got out as far as he could. He wore only a nightshirt and undershorts, but he would have to risk it.

He had gotten his head and arms out the window when the door opened and Snape charged in with a vial of something red in his hand.

Harry attempted to get out of the window, but he had barely gotten his torso out when Snape reached him.

"The Potter bravado mixed with the Potter brains, I see," Snape observed as he wrapped a hand around the back of Harry's nightshirt. "Did you really think I would let you get away that easily?"

"Okay, okay, I get it," Harry tried to wiggled backwards, but Snape kept him up there with one hand.

"Oh, I think not," Snape decided. He touched the tip of his wand to Harry's back, and suddenly Harry found himself stuck to the broad, flat sill of the window. Not a very dignified position with his head and arms sticking out over the roof and his legs hanging in the room with his rear end sticking up.

He wondered what would happen if he tried to kick Snape, but Harry knew he really wanted to stay alive until the end of summer, and that would not happen if he kicked Snape.

"I don't want you distracted by any other pain," Snape growled as he leaned out the window and forced the rim of the vial against Harry's lips.

Awful tasting, of course, but Harry gulped down the potion and even before he swallowed all of it, he could feel the soreness melting away. He thought about saying _thank you_ or ordering Snape to let him down, but he wasn't sure either would make a difference.

"_Disciplinus repetive_!" Snape said loudly.

Harry heard something whiz across the room. Then something struck him across the rear end. He cried out before he could stop himself, but the object hit him again. Twisting his body as much as he could, Harry managed to look back to see a wooden hairbrush raising up in the air and coming down to whack him.

"You big bully!" Harry yelled. He knew it sounded ridiculously childish, but he could not think of anything else to say besides swear words, and he knew Snape would not like swearing in the least.

"I would do it myself," Snape noted, "but I better tidy the room since our work boy is so abominably lazy."

Harry gritted his teeth and grabbed onto the ledge of the sill. He told himself he could weather the punishment out. It was just a stupid hairbrush – ouch, that hurt! – and he wasn't going to let it get to him – ow! Not there again! – and he wouldn't give Snape the satisfaction of crying out because – ah, why did it have to be so hard? – that was exactly what Snape wanted.

The hairbrush kept striking, and Harry heard Snape move behind him, probably to watch the brush strike his nightshirt-covered bottom over and over again, the evil bat.

"I'm waiting," Snape said a long suffering sigh in his voice.

Harry winced at another hard smack. How could something so silly hurt so much?

"I can wait here all day," Snape added. "It won't shorten your chore list."

"Okay, okay," Harry hated how weak his voice sounded, "I'm sorry."

"And?"

"And I'll get to work," Harry blinked rapidly, praying he wouldn't start crying and blubbering all over the place like a baby.

"Yes, you will," Snape said with cold satisfaction. He snatched the hairbrush out of mid-air and ended the paddling. Harry felt the sticking spell fade away, and he slipped backwards, his bare feet landing on the wooden floor.

Vampyr rushed forward and snapped viciously at Harry, biting onto the edge of his nightshirt and yanking Harry away from the window.

Ten minutes later, Harry sat on a slightly sore rear in the kitchen, eating porridge and trying not to look like he wanted Snape to burst into flames. He felt anger buzzing at the edges, gnawing at him until he wanted to give into the feeling and scream or knock his bowl to the ground or hit Snape or maybe do all three.

Glancing up, he caught a cold smile of satisfaction on Snape's face. Harry dropped his spoon down in his bowl and crossed his arms.

"Keep eating," Snape ordered.

"I'm not hungry," Harry said stubbornly.

"Let's review something here, Potter," Snape leaned across the table to fix Harry with a cold glare. "And I'll speak very slowly so as not to tax your small brains. I'm bigger than you, and this is my house, and whatever I say is law. So if I want to you work your fingers bloody, you'll do it. If I want you to sit in that chair until your legs fall off, you'll be sitting there. I want to beat you until you're bruised head to foot, I'll do it. And no amount of pouting or mean looks will change that."

"I hate you," Harry spat out. "More than my family!"

Snape blinked, a little taken aback. "What does that have to do . . . with anything? You and your Muggle family do not concern me."

"Why do I have to stay here?" Harry asked, not wanting to tell Snape about life with his relatives. At best, Snape wouldn't care, and at worst, he would act pleased that the Dursleys treated Harry so terribly. "Why can't you find someone else to help work?"

"Because I have you for free," Snape answered smugly. "And I find immense pleasure in the idea of you scrubbing my floors and pruning my gardens all summer."

"You can make me work, but you can't make me do a good job," Harry said, knowing he sounded childish. "I'll ruin your floors and – okay, okay! I'll do a good job!"

Snape had risen from his chair threateningly, but he stopped.

"You give me any attitude, and I'll chain you to the house."

Harry could picture Snape doing just that, securing a long iron chain around his leg and bolting it to the house, making Harry drag the chain all around the garden. Didn't Snape have any neighbors that Harry could ask for help?

"Finish your food and get to work," Snape ordered, taking Harry's silence as consent for obedience. "Wash the dishes, and then I want to see you scurrying around the garden quickly or I'll give you another potion to counteract the first and you'll be sore again."

"Already sore," Harry muttered as he picked up his spoon again.

Snape finished eating and got up to go, but Harry looked up and hesitantly raised his hand.

"This isn't class, Potter," Snape snapped. "And even if it were, you never show me any respect there either, so what is it?"

"Why is there hot water upstairs but not down?" Harry asked, making his voice calm and level.

"Because there is – end of story."

"But if I had hot water," Harry explained patiently, "I could get through washing quicker."

"And if you never came to Hogwarts, I could live in peace," Snape retorted.

There was just no reasoning with the man, Harry decided.

After breakfast, Harry went outside to get wood and started the long chore of washing dishes. When he finally got to soaping the dishes in the wash basin, he saw Hedwig flutter outside on a low branch of the huge tree.

Harry glanced over to the corner where Vampyr dozed in the corner with his eyes open a crack. If he could get a message on a scrap of paper outside to Hedwig, the owl could fly it to Dumbledore. Of course, if Snape caught him, it would probably mean . . .

Harry shuttered silently. He dreaded the thought of getting spanked again. He was almost twelve, and that seemed far too old an age to be smacked like a little child. He remembered seeing toddlers getting their hands slapped when they wandered into the streets, and at primary school, other children complained of getting slippered or strapped by parents for misbehaving. Harry had listened to the woeful tales of the other children, privately thinking that they didn't have it so bad. Yes, Belinda had been spanked when she decided to run away from home and the police found her two miles away, lost and crying. Yes, Gordon had been paddled when he disobeyed his mother and played near the railroad tracks, nearly getting killed by the train. At the time, Harry thought they deserved what they got, and he had wondered what it would be like to have parents that wanted to keep him safe and punished him for disobeying safety rules.

But now, in the rustic kitchen of Snape's house, Harry thought that spanking was one of the worst ideas ever conceived, and he wished whoever thought up punishing anyone that way could know just how much it hurt. The thought of ever being trapped over Snape's knee or the window sill made Harry want to cringe, and the idea of Snape's hand or that wretched hairbrush coming down again was almost enough to send Harry into a panic.

But would it be worth risking Snape's anger to get away, even if it meant a harsh punishment while he waited?

Harry realized he was chewing on his bottom lips in worry. He stopped and continued washing dishes, looking as innocent as possible whil his mind churned.

If he could just find some paper and something to write with . . .

As he turned from the basin to reach for the dish towel, he spotted the tin of blackening powder. He grabbed the towel, a white towel with green edging. He went to the counter, laid the towel out flat, and eased the top of the tin off.

Sinking his right forefinger into the powder, he lifted it out and began running his finger over the towel, writing in jagged letters. _Help – At Snape's. Harry._

Harry had barely finished the Y in his name when he heard footsteps in the hall.

"Potter, what is taking so long?" Snape's voice boomed from the hall.

Harry rushed towards the door, clutching the towel. He turned the knob, yanked the door open, and ran into the yard.

"Hedwig," Harry waved the towel frantically, "take this to Dumbledore – take it to Dumbledore!"

Hedwig flew out of the tree, her talons open wide to get the towel. Harry didn't dare look back; he knew he would see Vampyr rushing for him with Snape close behind. He thrust the towel as high as he could.

"Take it, Hedwig," he yelled. "Take it to Dumble –"

"_Accio_ towel," Snape commanded from far behind.

Immediately, the dish towel yanked itself from Harry's grip and flew into Snape's outstretched hand.

"What have we here?" Snape asked in a truly diabolical voice. "Rather than a message in a bottle, we have black smudges on a towel. '_Help – At Snape's. Harry_.' What on earth could this mean? Is our guest reluctant to continue his visit?"

Harry's heart pounded hard in his chest. He knew he could not make it to the tree in time to climb up, not with Vampyr watching him a few feet away. Snape was going to beat him half to death – Harry could only imagine the pain of it, and to his horror, he felt tears stinging his eyes.

"Perhaps the best thing would be to kill his owl," Snape said to the dog. "That would discourage these horrid attempts to leave his gracious host. What do you say, Potter? Fancy cooking your owl for supper tonight?"

"No, please," Harry rushed forward a few steps. "Don't hurt Hedwig. I wanted Dumbledore to know where I was so he wouldn't worry."

"Don't lie to me," Snape hissed. "You nasty, filthy, little liar, making my life miserable just like –" Snape broke off angrily.

Silence fell over the garden. Harry didn't know if he should start weeding the garden like nothing had happened or beg for mercy or brace himself for punishment. He felt almost relieved when Snape snarled,

"Fine! You're tired with a few chores? Suppose we put you in a new role? That of the wretched little schoolboy who does nothing but study under his relentless tutor all day everyday."

Snape pointed his wand at Harry, and Harry felt his clothes change. He glanced down to see himself wearing knickerbockers that fell just over his knees, a crisp white shirt with a brown waistcoat over it, and brown leather shoes. He looked like he had just stepped out of a Muggle movie about the 1800's. Harry barely had time to glance up in horror before Snape seized him by the arm.

"All right, let's go have a lesson," Snape growled.

Harry caught sight of Hedwig flying back up to the tree before Snape dragged him into the house. Snape marched him into the shabby parlor room and shouted a spell Harry had never heard before.

All at once, the room began to transform: the sofa turned into an old-fashioned wooden desk with an attached wooden bench, one of the chairs became a rigid table, and the faded paper on the wall behind the table turned into a wide blackboard with a wooden trough filled with chalk. The other furniture disappeared save for a single chair behind the table. The only things that did not change were the shelves of books.

Snape shoved Harry into the desk before walking up to the table. Upon the table rested an inkwell, a copy book, loose sheets of paper, and a wooden pointer about three feet long.

"Very well," Snape seized the pointer in his hand and whirled to face Harry, "let's have no more nonsense."

Snape swished the pointer down through the air, and it hit the top of Harry's desk with a terrifying _thwack_. Harry jumped, thankful his hands weren't on the table.

"Since I will not let you play tardy from my class, I suggest we study Muggle-related material today. Give me the present tense of the Latin word for _study_ in both single and plural forms. Then we can move onto irregular words."

Snape looked every bit the stern tutor as he stood before the board, even more so than he had at Hogwarts as the Potions Master. Harry realized that Snape's clothes had changed to a suit of shirtsleeves, waistcoat, and long trousers, all in black including the buttons.

And in that moment, Harry knew Snape must have gone (as Ron would say) completely barking mad.


	5. Chapter 5 Lessons

AN: As you may guess from the chapter below, I like old-fashioned schoolrooms before computers and fancy teaching equipment, and when teachers taught things like Latin and called math "mathematics."

I'm not putting up a warning for discipline in this chapter or subsequent chapters. If you object to corporal punishment and you've kept reading this far, you have worse problems than even I can imagine. Yes, my stuff is controversial – some people like it, some don't. That's all I'll say.

And of course, I own nothing of this except the ideas about pretending.

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Harry stared at the blackboard where a long list of Latin words stood in a straight column. He could guess at a few of them – most of the magical spells he used at Hogwarts came from Latin, he thought. He had hazarded a guess at the Latin word for _study_, gotten it completely wrong, and Snape had slammed the pointer down on the table again. Then Snape had swished his wand at the chalk, and the chalk had started to write the Latin words on the board.

It was odd for Snape to be using magic, especially in the old-fashioned schoolroom setting. Of course, Harry knew magic had been used in the 1800's, but he wanted to point out to Snape that he shouldn't use magic and try to teach Muggle subjects at the same time. Not that Harry would have dared to say such a thing. He thought the best thing to do was nod along with whatever Snape did and try his best to be a good pupil.

"Translate the first word," Snape commanded, walking to his desk and swishing the pointer through the air.

"_Amo_," Harry read. "Uh, that's love, isn't it?"

"Wrong," Snape barked out.

"But I thought –"

"You thought incorrectly, as usual. The full translate would be "I love." Present tense, first person. That's one wrong."

"That's not fair," Harry argued. "I knew some of the word –"

"Interrupting is not allowed," Snape said shortly. "For each word you translate incorrectly, you will receive a mark. At the end of the language lesson, you will receive a stroke," he swished the pointer through the air, "for every mark. Arguing and interrupting will get you twice as many."

It was so beastly unfair. Harry had to grip the edge of his seat to keep from shouting at Snape. He had guessed the man planned to punish him during the lessons, just to make him miserable, but the fact that he would be adding to his own punishment with each incorrect answer – Snape loved to torture him!

"Any further protests?" Snape raised his eyebrows. "You're already at two marks. Believe me, I'd like to get you up to three dozen before this part of our lessons is over."

Harry shook his head.

"No?" Snape's voice was almost gentle. "Pity. But we will still have mathematics, and grammar, and writing, and history, and philosophy. You'll be sitting uncomfortably for the next few hours, I wager."

Harry said nothing. He could feel himself shaking with rage. He hated Snape, and he knew the feeling was mutual, and he didn't see why Snape wanted to keep him trapped there. If Snape hated him so much at school, why would he want his worst student with him during the summer?

"Next word?" Snape's voice cracked like a whip.

Harry stared at the word _venire,_ and he had no idea what it was. "I don't know, sir," he admitted.

"Three," Snape smiled. "Next word."

"I – I don't know any of them," Harry confessed.

Snape started towards him, gripping the pointer tightly.

Harry could imagine how much the long wooden pointer would hurt, and he felt his stomach churning with dread. "Please, sir," he stammered.

"What?" Snape demanded.

"I don't know any L-Latin," Harry managed to get out. "I – I never – we didn't learn it at my school. But if you could just explain it to me –"

"Ha!" Snape snorted. "Why should I waste my time?"

"Because," Harry swallowed hard, "I'll listen."

"No, you won't," Snape retorted. "You'll behave just like you do in Potions. Whispering to your friends, shifting, talking back, ignoring my directions, ruining potions, doing everything you can to attract attention."

Harry stared up at Snape. Surely he didn't do all those things in Snape's class. True, he didn't always listen like he should, but other people played around in class. Why was he being single out just because he sometimes didn't pay attention?

"Pouting only gets you extra," Snape warned him.

"No, I'll be good," Harry promised, wriggling over in his seat as far away from Snape as he could get without falling out of the desk. "Just give me one more chance."

"I'd rather watch you dance to the tune of my pointer," Snape sneered. But he didn't make a move to grab Harry.

"Maybe – maybe you could show me some Latin," Harry rushed on. "I promise I'll listen, and then you can ask me the words again. If I get them wrong then, you can beat me."

"I don't beat you," Snape replied coldly. "And I don't need your permission, either. As a teacher, it is my right to discipline unruly students. I often thought a good whipping would make you pay attention in Potions, and now I intend to put that theory to work."

"But – but – but," Harry searched desperately for a valid excuse. He wanted to shout that you shouldn't hit people, but he knew during the 1800's schoolboys got whipped regularly. Part of him felt happy that he didn't live back then, but another part of him wanted to crawl under his desk to hide.

Snape made a movement to grab him, and Harry jerked back. However, he pulled back too far and ended up falling out of his desk. It hurt when he hit the floor, but Harry immediately scrambled to his feet. He ran for the door, but the doorknob was locked tight.

"Get back here," Snape ordered, still standing by the desk.

Harry knew he had been stupid to run – Vampyr was outside in the hall, probably, ready to rip him to pieces. Harry turned to face Snape.

"Right now," Snape pointed to the floor in front of him.

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry said quietly as he started dragging his feet towards Snape. "I panicked."

Snape crossed his arms, rested the pointer against one arm.

"And I'm sorry I didn't know my lesson," Harry said, trying to play along with the setting. Maybe if he pretended to be the reluctant schoolboy, scared and shame-faced, Snape would let him off.

"Are you?" Snape asked, smirked coldly.

"Yes, sir," Harry let his voice slide into a whimper. "It's just – I don't like my lessons. I'd rather be doing something else."

"Such as?"

Harry racked his brains to think of what boys might do in the 1800's. "Uh, I wanted to play outside."

"And?" Snape prompted.

"Go swimming?" Harry hazarded a guess. "Chuck around a ball? Maybe fish somewhere."

"And miss your lessons?" Snape looked exceedingly stern.

Harry was still a few feet away from him, but he kept up the game. "Yes, sir. I know I've been bad, but –"

"You've been exceedingly naughty," Snape decided.

Harry felt his cheeks warm at the childish word, but he nodded along. "Yes, sir, very naughty. Please let me sit down and continue my lesson."

"Bend over your desk," Snape told him.

"Sir, please –"

"Now," Snape commanded, his eyes flashing.

Harry slowly leaned his torso over the flat desk. He felt the hard wood under his stomach, and he clung to the edge of the desk to brace himself for the cuts.

The first strike of the pointer stung, but it didn't hurt too much. Harry wondered if Snape was starting out slow because he planned to keep hurting him the whole day. Another stroke, and Harry bit his lip lightly. Another, a harder stroke, and Harry wanted to protest that he didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve any of it – he should be back at Privet Drive being bullied and ignored all summer, not suck in a classroom with a discipline-happy professor.

"Take your seat," Snape ordered. He turned and marched to the board, leaving a bewildered Harry to sit back down.

Three strokes, and Snape stopped? Harry was sure he had at least two dozen coming, probably more for talking back and trying to run. He did not object – he wasn't completely stupid enough to question his good luck – and waited for whatever would come next.

"Now for mathematics," Snape said with what had to be a very evil smirk. "I trust my student is well acquainted with geometry and will have no problem discern the x-y axis along with other linear and nonlinear plains."

Harry wanted to shout that he wasn't even twelve yet – that they didn't start that in Muggle schools until later. He had been fairly good at math before he went to Hogwarts, able to multiple and divide fairly quickly along with working pre-algebraic problems, but nothing like Snape had just said.

The chalk began drawing diagrams with lines that stuck out and numbers placed all over, mixed with letters. Harry watched with a sinking stomach as the chalk started writing out what he should solve: _Imagining that this diagram takes place on a real scale and that the variables are not imaginary numbers, give the number of possibilities for x._

"Do you know the answer?" Snape inquired.

"I don't even know the question," Harry protested. "What is an imaginary number? Why _x_ and not the other letters?"

"You have five minutes to solve it," Snape handed him a small slate with a piece of chalk.

Harry stared down at the black slate, feeling upset and miserable which was exactly what Snape meant him to feel. He felt trapped, and he tried to push down the panic that rose inside him.

Picking up the chalk, he began to scribble on the slate.

"Oh, yes," Snape observed, "I can only imagine what you might be writing. Perhaps something about how you have the worst tutor in the world, calling me all sorts of names. Rude names will get one mark, swear words will get two. Show me your slate now."

Harry turned the slate to face Snape, letting him see the words.

"'_X _is a number and not imaginary'," Snape read. "What on earth is that?"

"It's right, isn't it?" Harry asked slowly.

"It is not right," Snape declared.

"Then _x _is not a number and is imaginary?" Harry asked.

"No, it is a real number," Snape insisted.

"Then my answer is right," Harry pointed out.

Snape came over to his desk, towering over Harry. "Are you trying to be fresh with me?" Snape asked in an ominous voice.

"No, sir," Harry hastily said.

"Go ahead," Snape hissed. "Show me some more of that Potter cheek. From the first day in my class, you've shown me nothing but obstinate, obnoxious, arrogant cheek, flouting your rebellion right in my face."

"I haven't," Harry protested.

"Yes, you have," Snape snapped. "You like showing everyone that the precious savior doesn't have to respect his teachers, especially his vile Potions master. You enjoy getting away with murder, knowing no one can stop you."

"I haven't gotten away with anything!"

"Sneaking out of bed at night, going after the Stone, strutting around the castle – I've seen you," Snape had bent over so he looked Harry right in the eye. "I know what you are, Potter. I know where you come from. I know what you're capable of."

Harry's eyes widened at the hatred in the man's voice. "What I'm capable of?" Harry said, his own voice high and strained. "I don't understand –"

"You don't have to," Snape replied. "I see him in you, more than looks, more than blood – you are him!"

"Who?" Harry asked, frightened. "Who am I?"

"He tricked her, took her away," Snape looked demented. "I loved her, and she went with him. She saw what he was, and she still went with him! And you're going to pay for it, pay for all of it."

Harry opened his mouth to ask what he was paying for when a loud chiming noise sounded from the other side of the house.

Snape straightened, his face going back to its normal sneer. "Stay here," he ordered. "Move from this room, and you'll wish you'd never been born."

Snape swept out of the room, locking the door behind him.

Harry leaned his arms forward on the desk, breathing slowly. What had that been about? He wished he knew who and what Snape had been going on about. How could he feel bad or sorry or explain anything if he had no idea what Snape was saying?

Harry glanced around the room. He had no illusions about climbing out either of the two windows – they were almost too high for him to reach and he knew they were locked tight.

Harry waited in his seat for a few minutes, watching the old-fashioned clock tick on the bookshelf. It wasn't even ten o'clock yet; the lessons could drag on for hours. Harry swung his feet from the seat, letting the heels of his clunky shoes scrap the floor. How long would they be pretending? And it wasn't very good pretending, considering that Snape kept going back to being his old ugly self instead of staying the stern schoolmaster.

Harry had read books and seen Muggle movies about the 1800's; schoolmasters back then didn't go mad and blame their students for crazy things. And they didn't use magic.

Harry glanced over at the bookshelves again, and he felt another twinge of exasperation. Most of the titles of the books were about magic. That was so stupid! Why have an old-fashioned Muggle schoolroom and not change the books?

Snape probably wasn't smart enough to think about that. He had never played pretend as a child, never imagined something so completely that it became real. Harry had, many times. In the tight confines of his cupboard, he had pretended that he was prisoner locked in a dungeon, pretended so well that he could almost hear the dripping water and creak of chains.

Other times, Harry had closed his eyes and imagined that he was on ship to India. He had stretched out on his bed and rolled back and forth, pretending the ship was pitching over the waves and he was seasick down below.

A few times, he had reached his hands up above his head and imagined that they were chained there because he was bound to a torture table and the evil Cardinal was about to come torture him for information about the location of the three Musketeers. But Harry wasn't worried then because he had a secret knife hidden in his sleeve, and when the Cardinal came close he would stab at him with the knife and then flip off the torture table to attack the villain.

Now that had been pretending. This stupid schoolroom with its Muggle subjects and magical books – Harry was not impressed.

In front of the books were a few small figurines. Harry got up to look at a few of them. There was a dragon, a unicorn, a coiled cobra with its mouth open, a centaur, and what looked like a bird mixed with a horse. All the figurines were made from shiny black iron, and Harry couldn't help touching the rounding head of the cobra.

He used to have a few figurines in his cupboard, small toys that Dudley had broken or no longer cared about. Some horses and knights to play battle on the shelf above his bed, Harry remembered. Two horses had lost legs, and one knight didn't have an arm, but Harry had liked them anyway, with their worn edges and faded paint where his small fingers had held them over and over again.

He knew he was far too old, but he couldn't help wishing he could play with the iron figurines on Snape's shelf. No, not play, because that sounded babyish, but maybe arrange the figurines in order of height or fierceness.

He knew he shouldn't touch, but he couldn't help picking up the dragon. Hagrid had that baby dragon in the spring, and Harry wondered if Norbert would grow up to be as scary-looking and dangerous as the dragon in his hand.

Suddenly, the iron dragon began to move, and Harry nearly dropped it. He kept hold of it, but the dragon kept moving, shifting his feet and spreading out his wings.

"Can you fly?" Harry asked the figurine softly. "Do you want to fly?"

The dragon began pumping up and down its wings as if it were about to launch into flight. Harry held his palm out flat.

"Come on, fly," he encouraged. "You can do it."

He pushed his hand up and the dragon was airborne. For a glorious moment, Harry knew it would fly, it could soar high up in the room. But then the dragon fell like any other toy. It hit the ground, and one wing broken off.

"No," Harry whispered as he picked it up, careful not to break off the other wing. "No, no, no."

He shouldn't have touched it, but he wanted to let it fly, wanted to free it and let it soar wherever it chose. He placed the broken figurine on the shelf, praying Snape wouldn't notice. Harry was about to run back to his seat when he saw a piece of paper stick out from between two books. He would have gone back to his seat, but he caught sight of the title of one book: _Lily, Fairest of the Flowers_.

Harry smiled a little bit as he always did when reminded of his mother. It was an odd book to find in Snape's house, Snape who hated everything pretty and sweet. Harry reached for the paper, wondering what kind of paper Snape would keep near such a book. Probably a spell to kill all lilies and any other flowers Snape didn't like.

The handwriting on the paper was small and curvy, a lovely cursive that wove the letters together.

_My dear Severus,_ the letter began, _I write this from the bedroom of my parents' house. My sister had not come yet, but I pray she will. The guests will arrive any moment, and I can see all the flowers from my window. My dress hangs from the doorway, white and lacey just like I always imagined. Everything is perfect, except that you are not here. I want you to know - I need you to know now and forever that I will always – _

Footsteps sounded in the hall.

Harry stuffed the letter back between the two books and dashed to his desk. He sat down and put his hands on the desktop, trying to look innocent as the door opened behind him. Harry took short, quiet breaths to calm himself as Snape walked in and came towards him.


	6. Chapter 6 Cold

Harry looked fearfully at the bookshelves one last time before staring down at the desk in front of him

AN: Yes, I'm in the middle of school stuff, but I thought I would post a short chapter on this story while I'm waiting for a meeting to start. For those of you still following this chapter, thank you, and I promise the story is starting to turn, in my mind at least, for the better.

Disclaimer: I don't own this.

--

Harry looked fearfully at the bookshelves one last time before staring down at the desk in front of him. He watched the parallel grains of the wood, worn smooth, as Snape walked up to him.

"What are you doing?" Snape asked, his voice cold but silky.

"Nothing," Harry did not look up. "Nothing at all. I'm sitting right here."

"You're breathing very fast which means you've found some kind of trouble while I was gone. Out with it."

"No, I was sitting right here. And now I'm ready to continue the lesson."

"You must take me for an idiot, Potter," Snape barked at him. "Whatever did must be very bad indeed, otherwise you never would ask me to continue a lesson which you have no chance at succeeding."

So Snape was making him lose on purpose! Well, Harry had already guessed that, and he saw no reason to protest. Snape did not move, just stood there watching him.

Harry tucked his hands under his legs and stared at the desk, trying not to look at the shelves. Don't look at the shelves, don't look at the shelves. But of course, eventually he couldn't help take a quick glance at the shelves. He forced his eyes back again, but Snape had already seen him.

"Ah! Potter, Potter, such a poor, stupid child, given yourself away so easily," Snape sneered as he walked towards the shelves. But his triumph at finding where Harry had been disappeared at he neared the shelves.

Snape whirled to look at him, half-mad with rage. "You touched this shelf, you saw what was there? Did you?"

"Yes," Harry confessed, fear making his small face go white.

"And you saw it, you read –"

"Yes," Harry grabbed on to the edge of his seat, "I dropped the dragon. I didn't mean to, but I thought it could fly and it broke."

"The dragon?" Snape glanced to the shelf and saw the dragon with the broken wings. "What? Oh, I see. Yes, it's broken. But you didn't – oh never mind."

Harry looked at him confused, but Snape straightened. "How dare you start touching things? Up, out of your seat. Go the board and write 'I will keep my hands to myself' a hundred times."

It was all so stupid, Harry thought as he began writing the words on the blackboard. Snape seemed to want something out of him, wanted him to do or say or feel something, but Harry could not figure out exactly what. Did Snape just want him to be miserable? Well, that was hard to keep up for long periods of time. Yes, Harry was miserable at the Dursleys, but in a different way, a quiet way that Harry had learned to endure. They could not lock him up for ever – eventually that had to let him out or feed him, and he learned to be patient until they felt he had been punished enough.

But Snape was not part of that life; Snape was part of the Hogwarts life, the magical side of Harry, the place where he belonged and had friends and people to care about him. Yes, Snape was trying his best to be cruel, but he kept using magic, and magic of any kind reminded Harry of Hogwarts, Dumbledore, Hagrid, and Ron and Hermione.

"Potter!" Snape snapped behind him, making Harry jump and drop the chalk. He grabbed it and straightened to find Snape glowering at him.

"You're not paying attention. You've written 'I will keep myself' twice now. You've been disobedient, clumsy, and defiant all morning."

"No, I haven't," Harry protested.

"And talking back," Snape smirked. "Since you seem obviously eager to incite my wrath, bend over my desk immediately."

--

Harry trudged into his bedroom, wiping his mouth that tasted of toothpaste. His eyes hurt from reading so long, and his rear end felt hot though it did not actually ache. In the afternoon, after what felt like years of lessons, Snape had hit him with a spell that caused his bottom to twinge and itch like he had been spanked an hour before. Harry spent most of the time squirming in his seat and listening to Snape lecture and snarl and goad him.

Harry was not sure what would make Snape happy, so he alternated between huddling in his desk miserably and showing small signs of defiance. Snape wasn't pleased with anything – the man was livid when Harry pretended rebellion, but he seemed frustrated when Harry collapsed on the desk and admitted he knew nothing.

Snape let him have lunch, a cold sandwich and fruit packed into a tin pail and a mug of cold milk. Harry supposed it kept with the whole schoolboy theme and he ate it hungrily, but when he asked if he could play outside for a while, Snape had refused.

Harry had pointed out that all students got a recess period, even schoolboys in the 1800's. Snape had then hit him with spell and proceeded on with the lessons.

"Stupid git," Harry muttered as he got into bed, "can't do anything right. No one's scared of him – just a big prat with a big nose."

Vampyr came into the room and settled down beside the bed. Every night the huge dog had slept beside Harry's bed, and he found that he – well, Harry didn't exactly like the dog there, but it was nice not to sleep alone.

Rolling onto his stomach, Harry reached one arm off the bed and very carefully touched the top of the dog's head with his fingers.

Vampyr perked his head up, but he did not snap at Harry's fingers. The dog nuzzled against Harry's finger insistently, pushing until Harry pulled his arm back on the bed. Vampyr stood up and put his paws on the edge of the bed, standing up to observe Harry in the bed.

Harry lay very still, and Vampyr dropped back to the floor, satisfied that his charge was in bed and down for the night. Harry expected Snape to come up – Snape always seemed to deliver a few hard words at bedtime, to ensure that Harry was not happy as he fell asleep, but Snape did not appear right away.

Harry's throat felt a little sore as he relaxed on the pillow, and he wished he had drunk more water at supper, but he supposed he could get some in the morning. His eyelids drooped shut and he melted into the pillow, and by the time Snape finally came up, Harry was fast asleep.

--

There was toast, eggs, and fried meat for breakfast the next morning. Harry had gotten used to the oatmeal, but a change was always welcomed, and he sat to eat without comment. Snape even let him have some hot tea, slamming the cup up front of Harry without word. Harry drank the tea quickly before Snape could take it away and leaned back in the chair, very satisfied. His throat did not hurt quite as much; it barely tickled now.

As Snape finished eating, Harry wondered what he would be learning today. He recalled a little of the Latin from yesterday, but maybe Snape would teach him some magic, maybe even fourth or fifth year spells. Probably not, but Harry enjoyed thinking about while everything was still calm and Snape had not gone mad for the time being.

Harry was not dressed for the school room; the clothes beside his bed had been plain black pants and a simple dark shirt with black shoes. Snape could always transform his clothes, but then again it wasn't the same if they were really pretending. If Harry really was a schoolboy, he would have dressed in school clothes and then a bell would have rang, and he would have marched downstairs for a plain breakfast and then another bell would ring for lessons to start. Trust Snape not to get it right.

"What are you scowling at?" Snape suddenly thundered.

Harry jerked in his seat and hastily shook his head. "Nothing, sorry, sir, I was thinking."

He paused, ready for Snape to make a caustic remark about how hard it must be for a Potter to think or something equally mean, but Snape only snapped,

"Straighten yourself up, or it will be no lunch for you today."

Harry did not believe him. Yes, Snape made him miserable and spanked him and yelled at him, but so far Snape had not refused him food. In fact, Snape seemed to make a point of giving him disgusting healthy food and lots of milk and water as well. After his first night in the house, Harry was sure he would get dry bread everyday, but so far he felt full – it never occurred to him to seek out of his room here and snitch food like did at the Dursleys. There in his cupboard, stealing food became a matter of survival while here at Snape's house food was a regular occurrence, almost forced on him as Snape expected him to eat everything on his plate.

Snape put down his fork, and Harry sighed, ready for another day of boring lessons.

Without being told, Harry got up and headed for the living-room-turned-classroom with Snape right behind him. Harry opened the door and came to a quick stop at what he saw, so sudden a stop Snape nearly ran into him.

"Watch where you're going, idiot boy," Snape told him, but Harry was busy taking in the new room.

Instead of a stark classroom, he stood at the doorway of a potions lab. Stone walls, stone floors, two large wooden tables, an enormous fireplace with an iron cauldron over it – the only things that did not change were the shelves of books which stayed exactly the same as in the classroom and the living room before that.

Harry felt a spell hit him, and he glanced down to find himself clothed in long black robes made of rough material. He peered up at Snape inquiringly.

"You're my apprentice now," Snape brushed past him to light the cauldron. "Let's see if you can make yourself helpful around the laboratory. Go fetch me wood."

As Harry began his chores around the lab, he wasn't sure if being an apprentice was so very different from being a work boy. Vastly different from being a schoolboy (he would give Snape that much credit), but other than the clothes, he felt like he was doing the same menial labor. Of course, Harry reflected as he began scouring a table clean with a damp cloth, he was working aside Snape rather than alone and they were making potions, so maybe . . .

As he had already proved the year before, Harry was not the best at Potions. As he helped Snape, Snape quizzed him about ingredients in certain potions, potions Harry had never heard of, much less made. Harry tried to concentrate on what he was being asked, but when Snape demanded to know the pivotal element to Draught of Living Death, Harry replied,

"All of them."

Snape stopped stirring the cauldron to look at him. "Excuse me?"

"All of them," Harry repeated, irritably as he kept sweeping the stone floor with a rough-handled broom. "If you take one thing out of a potion, it doesn't work right. That's what you say in class."

"Are you being smart with me, Potter?" Snape snarled.

Harry threw down the broom.

"No!" he insisted. "I am not being smart. If I were being smart, I would tell you that I think you're stupid and pathetic and I hate you. I would tell you to let me go and stop playing these games which aren't even good pretending."

Snape turned to face him, crossing his arms ominously.

"This isn't even a real potions lab," Harry flung out his arms. "It's a living room you transformed, and you didn't do a good job because the books are still here. I have tried to go along with you – but you're not happy with anything I do. You're an awful person, a mean man, and a horrible teacher. You don't like me, and that's fine, but why do I have to stay just so we can not like each other? And if you wanted me to be really miserable, why don't you just lock me in a dungeon for real?"

Harry stood there, breathing hard. He knew he shouldn't have yelled at Snape. Another second, and Snape would have him over the table, face down, probably swatting him with the large wooden spoon still wet with the potion. Harry knew he would have to grit his teeth and bear it, then Snape would let him down, and they would get back to work in silence. Harry briefly wondered why he kept yelling at Snape – did he want to goad the man into hurting him? That was crazy, but at the same time, he wanted Snape to talk to him, to stop sneering and scoffing and really talk.

But Snape watched him in cold distain for a second before whispering, "As you wish, Potter."

Snape gave a flick of his wand, and Harry dropped through the floor.

He didn't even have time to yell before he felt himself dropped against a hard dirt floor. Something attached to his ankle, cold and metal. Rubbing his side, Harry sat up to look around him. He was in a dark, cold, cellar-like space, lit by a single lantern.

Around his bare ankle was an iron shackle, and the shackle was bolted to a thick chain that looped around a bare wooden post.

Furious, Harry raised his face to the wooden ceiling and shouted, "This isn't even a real dungeon. It's the cellar, and you're too stupid to know the difference."

No answer came back, but the length of chain shortened, dragging his foot towards the post.

"Oh, thanks," Harry muttered, "now it's so much better. Stupid, sodding, ugly . . ."

He kept mumbling mean names for Snape, careful not to say anything too loud.

The cellar/dungeon seemed horribly cold after the warm living room, and Harry hugged his arms around his chest for warmth. His apprentice outfit had disappeared, and he was wearing a raggedy shirt and ripped trousers. Kind of like something the Count of Monte Christo would wear in prison, but then he had a bowl of soup everyday and maybe a tin of water. There was no bowl or tin in the cellar. Once again, Snape had no imagination.

As the hours dragged by, Harry found himself hunched in a tight ball, rubbing the tops of his feet to stay warm. His throat ached horribly, and even his glasses felt cold on his face. After what seemed like forever, a bucket appeared on the dirt floor, empty. Harry guessed that was for relieving himself, and he could barely keep back a sob. It was too much, too awful when he had done nothing wrong.

He opened his mouth to call to Snape and say he was wrong and apologize for what ever sin Snape thought he had committed, but then Harry shut it with a snap. He yanked off his glasses to swipe at his eyes and put them back on, determined. He had lived in a cupboard for years, he had Dudley chase him and hit him, he had been lonely, sad, and hungry all his life – one ugly Potions Master was not going to break him.

As more time passed, Harry found himself shaking with anger that soon turned into shaking from the cold. He wanted to get up and walk around, but he couldn't bear the thought of standing up and letting his limbs go free in the frigid air.

Finally, he curled up on his side on the floor, closing his eyes and pretending he was in his bed upstairs. It seemed like days ago he had slept there, tucked between the covers that seemed almost unnecessary for summer nights, snuggled against the pillow with Vampyr to watch over him. What he would give to be back in that bed, in his nightshirt, still warm from a bath?

Or outside in the sun-soaked garden, with the warm grass under his bare feet, hot from running around or chopping logs. Or in the kitchen, heating the fire to wash dishes, plunging his hands into the hot water. Or even in the classroom, a comfortable temperature while Snape lectured endlessly. If Vampyr was there, Harry could have huddled by the dog, put his icy fingers against the thick fur and been able to fight the cold.

He could picture his bedroom, the small bedroom with its neat bed and plain covers. He crawled into the bed and pulled the covers around him, trying to get warm. He would stay in the bed, never leave it, never venture out in the cold world again.

Harry opened his eyes and saw the cellar, the dark corners and single light, and he wanted to cry. He squeezed his eyes tight, praying he would fall asleep and wake to find himself in his bed.

He must have slept some because he jerked awake suddenly. Still in a ball, he was freezing, and his nose was so stuffed he could not breathe, and snot dripped out to the dirt below. His chest ached, he could not swallow, and Harry knew he had reached the end.

"Snape?" he croaked. His throat felt like knives were drawing back and forth, and tears blurred his vision. "Snape, please . . ."

A sharp pop sounded beside him, and he found Snape standing over him.

"What is it, Potter? Have you decided perhaps that – Potter, sit up!"

When Harry did not move, Snape prodded him with his shoe. "I said sit up, or I'll just leave you down here to rot."

Harry turned his head slightly to look up at Snape with hurt-filled eyes. Snape froze, and then he knelt down. He thrust out a hand and clamped it on Harry's forehead.

"Potter," Snape's voice had changed, not quite as icy, "Potter, you're burning up."

Harry shook his head the least bit. "No," he whispered, "cold."

"I should have expected something like this," Snape sneered. "Wanted to be coddled and pampered, like a little prince, our precious savior. Deliberately getting sick to make a bigger nuisance out of yourself."

However, as he spoke, Snape reached down and scooped Harry up. Harry pulled away just for a second, but Snape felt so warm that Harry tightened his numb fingers into the man's shirt and buried his face in his chest.

He did not care where Snape took him, he did not care what Snape said, did not care what Snape did with him, as long as he left the freezing dungeon with his Potions Master.


	7. Chapter 7 Bed

AN: Okay, I'm in the middle of three papers and losing my mind, but here's another chapter. I don't know why I can't update my other stories, but somehow this story keeps turning over and over in my mind. I think it is polar opposites with "A Time and Place to Learn" which makes it fun to back and forth between the two.

Thank you for all the terrific reviews.

Disclaimer: I do not own this.

--

Harry felt himself being carried up stairs. He didn't remember seeing stairs in his time down in the dungeon, but he supposed they must have been there the whole time, enchanted so he could not see them. As Snape mounted the steps, Harry tried not to whimper. He didn't understand why he was so cold, but he felt utterly exhausted from the last few days. He had been at Snape's place only four days now, but it felt like a lifetime, and he couldn't remember ever feeling good or warm or happy or anything but miserable.

A door opened, and suddenly warm air swept over Harry, heating the parts of his body that were not crammed against Snape. But Harry said nothing – he did not even dare lift his head up to see what Snape looked like. He knew what he would see on Snape's face – bitter annoyance and anger at having to rescue the pitiful, pathetic, helpless Boy Who Lived so Everyone Could Hate Him.

They were on the bottom floor by now, but Snape did not drop him like Harry expected. The longer Snape held him, the more Harry clung to him. He dreaded the thought of Snape just letting go of him and Harry hitting the floor, cold and numb. The idea of such pain made Harry panicky, and he kept holding onto Snape's shirt tighter and tighter.

They were going up stairs, Harry getting slightly jostled with each step Snape went up. A few more paces, and Snape said coldly,

"Sit here, Potter, and try not to fall to the floor."

Harry found himself put down on a chair, not hard, just firmly with the intent of making him stay there. Harry could not imagine thinking of moving – he held onto the edge of the seat and stared blankly in front of him.

Snape leaned over the tub, stopping up the drain and turning on the water. While the faucet poured out, Snape turned to Harry and began to removing the tattered rags that were covered with dirt from the "dungeon". Snape's lips were pressed into a line and he seemed quite displeased, but he said nothing as he stripped Harry to his underwear. Harry moved to get off the chair, but Snape reached under his arms and picked him.

Harry felt only a twinge of aggravation that he was being carried around so much, but he let Snape take him to the tub and put him in the rising water.

The moment Harry felt the bath water, he sat straight up, clawing to get out.

"It's too hot!" he protested. "It's burning me."

Snape kept a hand on his bare stomach, holding him down in the tub. "It's room temperature – you just think it's hot."

Harry leaned back against the tub, tears welling up in his eyes. He could not stand the pain, and Snape would keep him in the water until he died. It was too much – too much for him to stand anymore.

"For goodness sakes," Snape growled as he snatched off Harry's glasses. "Here, put your hands up on the side. And here," he reached into the water and grabbed Harry's ankles, lifting them above the rim of the water, "your feet as well. They're the coldest, but they'll warm with the rest of your body."

Harry found himself able to stand the bath now that his hands and feet weren't on fire. He sank a little lower into the water, and he let out his breath when Snape started rubbing his feet. The man's potion-stained hands rubbed warmth into his feet, dipping them in and out of the water to acclimate them to the temperature.

Harry lay still for a few minutes, and then Snape started drawing hot water into the tub. It felt good, wonderful after being so cold, and even when Snape picked up a wash rag and the soap, Harry did not move, but stared listlessly.

Snape washed him without a word, cleaning the dirt from Harry's limbs and continuing to let the water out and refill it with warm water. After finishing washing, Snape hesitated, then said,

"All right, Potter, lift your face. Though I don't see any reason for all these tears."

Harry blinked – he did not know he had been crying until Snape told him, but sure enough, tears were leaking out of his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. Snape got a clean rag, wet it, and washed his face. The man's fingers were surprisingly gentle as he swiped over Harry's cheeks, careful not to hurt him, and Harry burst into real tears.

Sitting up in the tub, he leaned his head down and started to cry, deep wrenching sobs from the depths of his soul, tears flooding down his red cheeks, until his whole body shook. Then he started coughing, and he could not stop.

Snape unstopped the drain and reached under his arms to help him stand up. "Come on, Potter, let's get you into bed. All this fussing – you've made yourself sick. Always trying to get attention, aren't you?"

But Snape already had a towel and was rubbing him dry, helping him into clean underwear and his soft nightshirt. Snape didn't even bother with the buttons; he scooped Harry up and carried him into the small bedroom.

Still coughing and crying, Harry could barely make out his bed, but the moment he was set on it, he drew a shuddering breath that deepened his coughing.

"Stop it, Potter," Snape ordered, his voice tinged with frustration and worry. "You have to stop coughing. You can barely breathe as it is. Sit up, and try to get yourself under control."

It was so cruel, but Harry tried to do as Snape told him, sucking in one long breath after another.

"Little brat," Snape shook his head as he reached out and felt Harry's forehead. "You're burning. What possessed you to stay down there so long?"

"You put me down there," Harry croaked, his head aching fiercely, feeling dizzy from not enough air.

"Because you wanted to be down there," Snape retorted. "I thought you were playing in the dirt, grubbing about like a pig – not catching pneumonia like a simpleton."

"Why would I want to go down there?" Harry demanded hoarsely, tightening his hands around folds in the covers.

"Boys like playing in the dirt," Snape retorted. "You keep asking to play, so I assumed you were fooling about down there. Or being stubborn and refusing to call me. It serves you right, getting sick, for being such a burden."

Harry blinked, feeling tears crowding in his eyes.

"Oh, stop it," Snape snapped. "You're safe now, up here in your own bed with a pillow and warm covers, and I'll fix your cough though I am very tempted to punish you for being so much trouble."

Harry didn't know what to say, if anything, and he considered keeping on crying, but he felt strong hands pushing him back on the pillow and a second later the covers were pulled up.

"Get out of bed, and it will be a whipping," Snape told him, but Harry could not even think of moving.

His chest ached along with his head, he was freezing but hot at the same time, and he never wanted to open his eyes again. His last coherent thought was hearing Vampyr padding into the room and settling down by his bed.

--

Snape woke him a few hours later, in the evening, shaking him on the shoulder. Harry opened his eyes, and immediately he knew he was sick. Everything hurt, the fading light from the window was too bright, and he wanted to go back to sleep.

"Sit up," Snape instructed, helping him to slowly sit.

Peevish and cranky, Harry pushed against Snape's hands, actually striking the man's wrist to get him off.

"Potter," Snape growled, "I know you're sick, but that won't keep you from being punished if you disobey."

"I want to sleep," Harry protested, his voice heavy and drowsy. "Leave me alone."

"You have to take some potions," Snape told him, propping Harry up on the pillow against the headboard.

"I don't want potions," Harry said, almost whining. "I hate them, and you're going to poison me."

"No poisoning," Snape said, his voice nearly a promise.

"They're nasty," Harry sniffed, feeling even worse.

But he felt the rim of the vial against his lips and he reluctantly gulped it down. It was awful, but Snape held the vial to his lips until Harry had swallowed all of it.

Two more vials followed, and Harry wanted to wail from feeling so tired and sick and having to take gross potions. Why couldn't Snape leave him alone like his aunt and uncle did when he was sick, locking him in the cupboard and ignoring him until he recovered?

The moment Snape said he was finished, Harry ducked back down on the bed and pulled his pillow under his head.

"Go away," he told Snape.

"Your insolence knows no limits," Snape said somewhere above him. "Believe me, once you are sufficiently healed, I will work on your arrogance and your rebellion, you horrid – Potter, are you listening to me?"

No answer came from the boy. Snape glared down at him, those flushed cheeks and dark hair that stuck up at all angles despite being cut so short four days ago. It had grown a little too fast, typical of a wizard who doesn't like his haircut, even if another wizard cut it with a charmed razor.

He could shave the brat's hair of completely. Snape pulled his wand out, the word "Accio razor" on his lips. But he hesitated. He could always do it later, and after all, best to let sleeping brats lie.

"Bark if he wakes," Snape told Vampyr. "And if he pitches a fit, bite him."

Vampyr gave a high bark, almost a yelp of disapproval. Snape glowered at him and swept out of the room.

--

Snape woke him twice during the night to give him more potions. Harry didn't even open his eyes – he gulped down the filthy brew as quick as he could and went right back to sleep.

When morning came, Harry opened his eyes and stared up at the white blur of the ceiling. His throat still hurt, and his chest ached when he tried to breathe too deeply, but he was not quite as bad the night before. However, he had no intention of getting out of bed and being put to work again. The chores at the Dursleys were bad enough, but at least there they left him alone to work rather than hollering at him every minute and bullying him just for fun.

By the time Snape came down the hall and into the room, Harry had grounded his body in the bed and stared defiantly at the door. As the blur of Snape came into focus as he approached the bed, Harry declared," I'm not getting up."

He meant to sound cold and rebellious, but his voice was hoarse and he only sounded weak and tired.

"You're not getting up," Snape put his hand out to feel his forehead, but Harry jerked away.

"Don't touch me."

"Potter," Snape gave him a warning look, "I need to know if you still have a fever. Lean over so I can feel."

"No, I don't have a fever," Harry said in a low tone.

Snape reached out again, but Harry moved his head away.

"You will let me feel your forehead, or I will fetch a thermometer and do this the old-fashioned way," Snape ground out.

Any other time, Harry would have felt mortified at Snape suggesting such an embarrassing thing, but now Harry could only think that Snape would realize he didn't have a fever and make him get up, and Harry wanted to cry at the thought of dragging his exhausted body though so many chores.

Snape grabbed his arm and held him still while the other hand palmed his forehead. Harry squirmed, and Snape finally released him, declaring,

"Why are you fighting me? You're still warm, and I'm not fooled into letting you out of bed yet. You'll be staying up here today, and I better not hear any fussing."

It was relieving news, but Harry felt anger rise inside him.

"I hope you're happy," he flung the words at Snape, forcing his small voice to sound as cruel as it could.

"What?" Snape paused with a vial of potions in his hand.

"I'm sick," Harry cried out. "You wanted me to be sad and awful and terrible, and now I am. Are you happy?"

"Yes," Snape snarled, but Harry kept going.

"I tried to do what you wanted. You wanted me to be a workboy, and I worked all day, but it was too much and you got mad when I couldn't work enough. Then I was the schoolboy in the dumb clothes, and I tried to learn stuff, but you wouldn't teach me. Then I had to be your apprentice thing, and I couldn't get it right so you locked me in a dungeon which was only a cellar. I have done what you wanted, but you know what?" Harry raised blazing green eyes up. "You're really rotten pretender."

Snape blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You can't pretend anything right," Harry kept going. He knew he should stop but he had to get it all out. "The workboy bit was all right, I guess, but the schoolboy? You went back and forth between magic and the old timey stuff. And the apprentice was in the same room – not a real lab like at school, but the living room you changed halfway. The dungeon was a cellar. You're stupid when you try to pretend."

"Is that the best you can do?" Snape retorted. "Complain about my pretending? I kidnapped you, I spanked you, and you got sick – you aren't upset over all that?"

"I'm not happy about those things," Harry replied, "and you're going to be in trouble when Dumbledore finds out what you did."

"You think he doesn't know?" Snape shot back.

Harry's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to protest, Snape shoved the vial in, making him choke down the potion.

"You're wrong," Harry sputtered the moment Snape pulled the vial away. "Dumbledore would never –"

"Dumbledore would do whatever he had to do to ensure that people do what he wants," Snape hissed, leaning down closer to Harry. "Dumbledore sees ends, and he uses whatever means necessary to get those ends, and he will use anyone he can to do it."

Harry could not understand the venom in Snape's voice as he spoke about the headmaster, nor the look of rage on Snape's face as he went on.

"He will sacrifice whomever he has to, push whomever, kill whomever – all to fit his grand scheme. He makes those loyal to him promise to commit unforgivable sins, he twists truth all around, and he hires foppish novelists rather than relying on those who are loyal to him. Does that sound like a man who would care about you?"

"Dumbledore's not like that," Harry protested, aghast. What on earth was Snape talking about?

"How would you know? You've seen him for a year – some know him for a lifetime. A lifetime of cruelty and misery that he dismisses, and then has the nerve to blame me for choosing –" Snape broke off, looking both murderous and tortured.

"He's good," Harry insisted, feeling dizzy. "He's good – I know it. I – I –"

Harry clasped one hand to his forehead, fighting off sickness.

Snape straightened, his face dropping back into its expressionless mask. "I'm bringing you up some breakfast and strong tea," he announced bluntly. "Then you will nap for the rest of the morning."

He turned and disappeared into the blur of the rest of the room. Harry reached for his glasses, but couldn't find them beside the bed. He settled back against the pillows, his eyelids drooping with fatigue.

A low rumble came from the floor, and Harry saw the dark blur that must be Vampyr.

Rolling on his side, he spoke to the dog, "Hey, didn't know you were there. Did you stay there all night? Do you know what he's talking about?"

Vampyr rose and trotted over to the bed. Harry reached a hand out and the huge dog muzzle against it once, before pushing Harry's hand back to the bed. Harry wasn't sure why Vampyr kept insisting he stay in bed, but he supposed the dog wanted to make sure he didn't fall out.

Snape brought back hot porridge and toast with strong tea and stood over him while Harry ate. Towards the end, Harry tried to push away the last of porridge, but Snape insisted, "Every bite, young man. You barely ate anything yesterday, and you need your strength. And some more tea."

Satiated with food and tea, Harry could not keep his eyes open, and they slid closed and he tumbled back on the pillows while Snape stacked the tray back up. Picking up the loaded tray, Snape motioned Vampyr to the door, and the dog got up, whining in protest.

"Come on," Snape snapped. "He's asleep – you can eat and come right back up."

The dog reluctantly got up and followed Snape out the door, but Harry didn't budge.

Later Harry woke to find his glasses beside his bed along with the five black iron figurines from the downstairs shelves. The dragon's wing had been fixed, and Harry eagerly reached for the toys, piling them onto the covers beside his bed. The moment his hands touched the black iron, the figurines began to move. He held the unicorn in one hand and the dragon in the other, and when he made them pretend to fight, the figurines actually began to move and struggle against each other.

Harry ended up sitting in the bed with his legs bent and apart. The covers draped over his knees, making his legs look like two sharp mountains. He placed the unicorn on one knee and dragon on the other. Then he brought his knees together slowly, and when they were a few inches apart, the two creatures started snarling at each other.

He tried to find a way to make all five of the animals fight together. The dragon and the bird-horse kept flying up to snap at each other, and he wished they would all have a grand brawl, all five struggling for domination.

"What are you doing?" Snape barked out, suddenly beside the bed.

Harry jumped, dropping the figurines on the covers.

"Who said you could play with those?" Snape demanded.

"They were by my bed," Harry told him, coughing slightly from the shock.

"They were for decoration," Snape grabbed the figurines and flung them to the floor.

Harry immediately rolled over to peer off the bed, afraid Vampyr might tear them to pieces. However, the dog appeared to have no interest in chewing on iron figurines. Harry leaned back, planning to reach out of bed and snatch the creatures back once Snape left.

Snape was fiddling with potion vials, and for the first time since Harry had come to the wretched house, he felt awkward in front of Snape. Not scared or worried or unhappy or angry, but just awkward. Over the last few days, Snape had been much closer than he had ever been at Hogwarts, and Harry was not sure how he felt about Snape taking care of him. Hurting him, humiliating him – Harry could fight against that, but Snape putting him to bed and making sure he healed . . . it was too bizarre.

"All right, Potter," Snape whirled to face him, "by tomorrow you should be ready to get out of bed. But since you insisted on pointing out my flaws, I have some new plans for our pretending."

Harry looked down glumly.

"From now on, we are going to pretend one thing, and pretend that thing until it becomes reality for you."

Harry wanted to ask what that thing was, but he could not imagine what absurd scenario Snape would choose next.

"From now on," Snape smiled, almost evilly, "we will act as a family."

"Huh?" Harry's mouth dropped open.

"From this moment on," Snape chortled, "you are my son, and I am your father. You will call me Father and treat me as such until you begin think of me as your father. How will that do for pretending?"


	8. Chapter 8 Fathers

Harry stared at Snape, bewildered. A family? What in the world did Harry know about a family? But then the thought of Snape being his father made Harry angry, furious in the space of two seconds when his confusion turned to rage.

"No," Harry said defiantly. "No, you're not my father."

"Is it so unimaginable?" Snape sneered. "Is it so inconceivable that I, Severus Snape, could have been your father?"

"Yes!" Harry squeaked, his voice high pitched and frantic. "My dad wasn't you - my dad would never have been you."

Snape's eyes glittered dangerously, and Harry knew he had pushed another one of Snape's buttons, something small that he said to send Snape into a fit of temper.

"My dad was good," Harry went on, not even knowing why he kept talking. "My dad was a hero. You're just a - a bully!"

Snape laughed, an ugly short sound in his throat. "I'm the bully? I'm the bully? Oh, poor Potter, how horribly naïve you are, so completely stupid. You really know nothing, do you? Dumbledore's kept you so hidden away, clueless, his precious child all alone in the dark."

"What?" Harry blinked. "Dumbledore hasn't hidden me - he let me go to Hogwarts."

"Let you go?" Snape laughed again. "As if anything could have kept you from going."

"My aunt and uncle tried," Harry persisted. "We even moved, went to an island, but Hagrid found me. He told me about my parents, what happened to them."

"And did he tell what your father was like?" Snape's voice was icy. "Did he tell you what your father did, the cruelty he inflicted?"

"My dad wasn't cruel," Harry insisted. "He was good. He loved my mum, and he - he -" Harry broke into another fit of coughing.

Snape watched him coldly and then reached out to clap him smartly on the back. Harry managed to stop coughing, and Snape pushed him back against the pillows, shaking his head.

"Stop these hysterics. We're a family now, and that's the end of it."

Chest aching, Harry looked up at Snape and tried to think. There must be someway he could outsmart Snape. He was already playing Snape's games better than he was; how bad would it be if he just went along with this game?

The talk about Dumbledore had calmed his fears somewhat. Remembering what had happened last year, Harry was sure Dumbledore would do something if Harry didn't show up for school. But that was so long away . . .

"The looks on your face are idiotic," Snape sneered. "It appears that you really are quite stupid."

Harry snapped his gaze up to Snape. "You can't call me that."

"What did you say?" Snape hissed.

"If we're playing the family game, you have to call me by my first name," Harry pointed out.

"I have to do no such thing."

"If you want me to think it's real, you do," Harry stood his ground. "No father calls his son by someone else's last name. That's dumb. You have to call me Harry."

"I do not," Snape crossed his arms.

"Fine," Harry crossed his own arms, "but when you call out Potter, you'll look at me and you'll know I think you're playing the game all wrong and that I don't believe it for a second."

Snape raised his hand, and Harry flinched, hoping he was not about to get slapped. But then Snape lowered his hand and growled,

"Very well, _Harry_. But I better not see any obstinate looks on your face from now on. We play the game my way. No," Snape realized what he had said, "we're not playing a game at all - we are a family now. And what do you say to me?"

Harry swallowed, knowing exactly what Snape wanted. "Y-Yes, Father."

He expected Snape to smirk cruelly, to delight in Harry's breaking, but Snape only replied, "That's right. It's Father to you, young man."

So the game had started. Harry weighed his options, whether he should keep resting or keep talking or what. How did sons talk to their fathers? He tried to remember Dudley's yelling at Uncle Vernon for more toys or food or to change the telly, but Harry didn't think that Snape would be that kind of father.

It hit Harry suddenly - not all fathers were the same, were they? He couldn't just shrug and say one father was the same as the next if they were all different. Should he ask Snape what kind of father he would pretend to be? Harry already knew the response to that: a coldly raised eyebrow and _"What kind do you think_?"

"Roll over on your stomach," Snape ordered.

Harry immediately felt fear, but he knew better than to disobey by this point. Slowly, he turned over, clutching his pillow with both hands. "Please don't spank me . . . Father," Harry whispered.

It seemed in keeping with the game - wouldn't real sons beg not to be punished? As he waited anxiously, Harry wished he had asked his schoolmates more about their fathers. Ron's dad, or Hermione's, even Dean Thomas's - some information would be nice right now. If he knew, Harry could protest that fathers didn't punish sons when they did nothing wrong, but since Harry did not really know, he could do nothing but hold onto the pillow and hope Snape would not wallop him.

He felt Snape's fingers at the back of his neck, drawing back the covers. But Snape dropped them at the small of Harry's back, baring only his nightshirt-covered back. Then Snape began to tug up his nightshirt.

Harry wanted to protest; Snape had already seen him naked and helped into the underwear that Harry was wearing right now, but Harry was almost twelve and he didn't see why Snape thought he could undress him anytime he wanted. However, Harry stayed quiet, and Snape only pulled the nightshirt up to his shoulders, baring Harry's back.

An image of a Muggle movie suddenly came to Harry, one of those movies about ships and sailors and he remembered that sailors got whipped across their backs, usually with pieces of braided leather or something scary called the cat o' nine tails. The movie had frightened Harry; he was only six and Uncle Vernon had laughed and said they should send him to sea to straighten him out. Surely Snape would not whip him across the back, he wouldn't - that wouldn't be keeping within the game! They weren't playing sailors.

Snape laid his hand on Harry's back, and Harry jerked, barely able to keep from pulling away.

"Your hands are cold," he squealed before he could stop himself.

"Hold still," Snape told him.

Snape's hand felt like ice, and they were moving so slowly up his bare skin - Harry buried his face in the pillows and held on, his shoulder shaking as he tried to stay still and not burst into wild laughter as the ticklish touch.

"Stop that," Snape ordered. When Harry did not, Snape smacked his bottom, but with the covers piled up, it didn't really hurt. "If you don't stop moving, I can't heal you. I mean it, I want you to stay - oh, fine, have it your way."

Something hot and heavy landed on the middle of his back. Harry raised his face, gasping from the pain that rushed on him suddenly, burning his skin. But then the pain disappeared, and he felt his eyelids grow too heavy, and he slumped forward towards the pillow. He never did hit the pillow as his world went completely black.

Snape stood over the bed for a few moments, watching the slumbering boy. Then Snape removed the warm stone from where it lay on the middle of Harry's back. The boy would sleep for the rest of the day and the night, awakening in the morning nearly healed. That was the power of the healing stone, but it could not be used until the patient was on the road to recovery.

Snape pulled down the nightshirt over Harry's back; there was a red blotch on the pale skin where the stone had been, but Snape knew that would disappear in minutes.

"Come," he said to Vampyr, "let's go contemplate new tortures for my son."

The dog whined, turning his huge head towards the bed.

"Then stay and chew him to pieces," Snape snarled. He stormed out of the room, leaving the dog alone with the sleeping boy.

A few minutes, Snape came back in the room and stalked to the bed. He yanked the covers off Harry, roughly turned him onto his back, and flung the covers over him again. The boy needed to be on his back to breathe properly, though Snape was sure he did not care if the brat healed or not. Harry did not wake, and Snape stooped to pick up all the figurines, setting all five figurines on the bedside stand. Snape glanced at Harry whose flushed cheeks had began to cool, his dark lashes resting peacefully, his lips together, a darling little angel, Snape sneered.

Grabbing the iron dragon, Snape snapped the wings off in one vicious motion. The toy dragon tried to bite his finger, but Snape set it down by the others, tossing the broken wings beside it. He considered mutilating the other figurines - how awful to wake up and find all his toys broken! - but Snape did not.

He stopped to sneer at his dog who gave a short bark, and then Snape disappeared from the room.

--

Harry yawned as he woke up, rubbing at his eyes. He felt so much better, a bit stiff and very hungry and thirsty, but not sick anymore. He reached for his glasses and felt the figurines. Hastily putting on his glasses, Harry grabbed the figurines but found the dragon with its wings broken off. Dismayed, Harry took the dragon in one hand and the wings in his other.

The dragon looked up at him sorrowfully, and Harry said, "How did your wings get broken off? Did -" Harry looked at Vampyr.

The dog gave a short bark, shaking its muzzle back and forth.

"Evil bat," Harry muttered as he glared at his open doorway, feeling very sorry for the dragon that could no longer pretend to fly. Struck by an idea, Harry held the two snapped-off wings between his thumb and forefinger and moved his hand up at down.

"Look, it's a bat," he told the dragon. "An evil, ugly bat. Eat the bat - kill the bat," he brought his hand towards the dragon, and the dragon started snapping and growling at his make-believe bat.

"Destroy the bat," Harry cheered. "Rip him to pieces -"

"A-hem!" Snape coughed loudly from the doorway.

Startled, Harry dropped the wings and bit his lip as Snape approached the bed.

"Are we still in bed . . . Harry?"

Snape seemed to have trouble with the name, but at least Harry knew they were playing the game right.

"Sorry, Father," he muttered.

"Get dressed and come down to breakfast," Snape ordered. "Those are your new clothes."

As Snape went out, Harry crawled out of bed and went into the bathroom to wash up. When he came out, he went to examine his new clothes. He hoped it wasn't anything too awful, but then again he doubted that any outfit could be worse than the schoolboy costume with the heavy shoes. These clothes were not too bad: dark trousers, a thin collared shirt that buttoned down the front, and dark socks and shoes. Harry had put the trousers on and reached for the shirt when he saw the suspenders. Black suspenders with button ends, two lengths going over his shoulder to met in the back.

Harry rolled his eyes. No one wore suspenders anymore; what was wrong with Snape? Why couldn't the man do anything normal? Even robes would have been better than stupid suspenders.

"Got to make me miserable somehow," Harry sighed as he buttoned the suspenders in the holes of the trousers. The strips kept twisting, and even once Harry got them on, he could feel the twist in the back. Oh, well, maybe Snape wouldn't notice.

After putting on the shoes, Harry started for the door, but Vampyr growled at him.

"What?" Harry asked. "I'm all dressed, and I brushed my teeth, too."

The dog barked at the hairbrush lying on the end of the stand. Harry made a face at it, remembering how he had been trapped over the window sill while the hairbrush paddled him.

"Don't remind me," he told the dog, but Vampyr grabbed the handle of the brush in his mouth and came towards Harry. When the dog raised itself up with the brush, Harry realized the dog meant to brush his hair, and he protested,

"Okay, I'll brush my hair. Give it to me - no, I'm not letting a dog brush my own hair, that would be so stupid."

Thankfully, Vampyr let him have the brush, and Harry took it into the bathroom where he could see in the small mirror. His hair was still very short, but not quite as awful as it had been that night when Snape cut it with a razor. Harry brushed his hair as neatly as he could, but still it stood up in all directions.

"It doesn't get any neater than this," Harry tried to tell Vampyr when the dog blocked his way to the hall. "I've tried before, and it stands up. Can I please go down to breakfast before the bat comes back up?"

Vampyr moved, but trotted beside him the whole way down. Breakfast was the same as the other morning, eggs and toast for both of them. Harry barely tasted the food as he wolfed it down, swallowing his glass of milk in thirsty gulps.

"Little pig," Snape commented, but he did not insist that Harry use better manners.

Once his plate was empty, Harry reached forward to serve himself more eggs, but then hesitated. Did sons get to serve themselves or did they have to ask their fathers for more food? Catching Snape's eyes, Harry motioned to the eggs and then pointed to himself and then Snape, trying to convey the question without actually asking it.

"What?" Snape watched him, bewildered.

"Mmmm," Harry pointed to the eggs. "M M m m-m, m m m m m m-m?" he made an m-sound for every syllable in the question_ Can I serve myself or do you as my father?_ Technically, he wasn't ruining the game by asking the actual words, but hopefully Snape would catch his meaning and respond with "As your father, I serve you" or "As my son, you may serve yourself," thus keeping the game going without any interruption.

But Snape wasn't smart to figure it out, and he kept watching Harry in confusion.

Harry tired again, making his M's louder, "M M m m-m, m -"

"Stop it, Potter," Snape roared, banging his fork on the table. "You're making no sense."

"I was trying to ask if I could serve myself more food," Harry responded hotly. "If I said it, it wouldn't be right, but you keep ruining the game!"

"I am not ruining the game, you're ruining the - no, there is no game, Potter!"

"Did it again," Harry pointed out. "I bet you didn't have any friends ever, because you can't play at all."

Snape seemed to swell with fury, and a second later he grabbed Harry by the ear and marched him to stand against the only blank wall in the kitchen.

"You'll stand in the corner until I say you can leave," Snape snarled.

"It's not even a corner - it's a wall," Harry protested without turning around.

"Potter," Snape warned behind him.

"If you want me to stand in the corner, then you should keep a corner free," Harry decided as he stared at the plain wood of the wall. He had read books before where naughty children had been sent to the corner, and he knew he was right and Snape was wrong. "No one says 'Go stand by the wall.' They say the corner because you're supposed to stand in the corner!"

"Fine!" Snape bellowed.

From the edge of his vision, Harry could see Snape stomp to one of the corners and began to clear it. Several small crates were stacked up there and pans hung on one of the walls, but Snape dragged the crates out and took down the pans. The moment the corner was empty, Snape pointed a finger at it.

"Go stand in the corner," he ordered.

"Thank you," Harry said haughtily as he stalked to the free space. He wasn't sure how close in he should go, so he stood several inches back from the two walls. After a few minutes, Harry wished he had let the whole thing go and stayed by the wall. The thing about standing in the corner was that he couldn't see anything other than the two intersecting walls; at least against the one wall, he could see things from both sides.

Snape was moving around behind him, cleaning up, and Harry wished he could ask for the last bite of the eggs, but he guessed he wasn't supposed to talk while in the corner.

As the moments dragged by, Harry reflected that the game wasn't nearly as bad as he thought it would be. Compared to the other ones, Harry wasn't being made to work or learn useless lessons or locked up in the cold. If he hadn't shouted at Snape, he would not be in the corner, and standing there, though boring, wasn't nearly as bad as being spanked. As for pretending Snape was his father - Harry still did not like the idea, but it was not as bad as it could be. Besides, Harry had never called anyone Father before, so the name did not bother him as much as it probably should have.

Had Snape made Harry call him Dad, Harry would have flatly refused - that was the name he reserved for his own dad, his real dad, and he would never call the slimy bat of a potions master Dad. Never, not in a million years -

"Harry!" Snape snapped behind him. "Turn around."

Harry did so and found Snape watching him.

"What do you say?" Snape prompted.

Harry thought quickly. What did sons say to their fathers in situations like these?

"I'm sorry, Father?" he tried, very unsure of himself.

"I know you are," Snape nodded. "Hopefully in the future you'll behave yourself better. I would hate to have to punish you more severely."

_I bet you would_, Harry thought sarcastically, but he said nothing.

"It's time to do the dishes," Snape pointed to the table. "I'll wash, and you dry. And you better not break any dishes."

"Will it be coming out of my allowance if I do?" Harry asked before he could think. It seemed like a question a son would ask, but Snape blanched, taken aback.

"I - what makes you think you're getting an allowance?"

Harry did not expect Snape to ever let him see a single Sickle, but he wanted to sound authentic so as he began to carry the dishes, Harry remarked, "Am I ever going to get my allowance back? I haven't got any money in months."

When Snape did not respond, Harry went on,

"I guess that's what I get for stealing your broom," Harry decided as he put the dishes in the wash bin and went to pump water. "And riding it at night. And crashing it into a tree. And then trying to hide it."

That was a fun idea - he had done all that and Snape had taken his allowance away for three months. Harry had begged for him not to, but Snape had said no arguing, and Harry had to go along with it or suffer a worse punishment, something awful with a switch from outside, Snape had hinted. And Harry would have to go cut the switch himself and bring it back, and he hated being switched so he agreed to the no allowance which was awful because he was saving up to buy something really fun and that put him back even further because -

"Good grief, boy," Snape interrupted his thoughts. "Do you ever stop? Muttering your ideas under your breath, making up these stories. You really are stupid."

"Yes," Harry nodded solemnly, "I take after my father."

"Yes, you do," Snape agreed fervently, "that rotten, spoiled little -"

Harry smirked the tiniest bit, and Snape realized what he meant, which father he was referring to.

"Back to the corner," Snape ordered.

Sighing heavily, Harry left the pump and returned to the empty corner. He realized as he stood there that it meant Snape had to do the dishes all by himself.

--

Snape was much better at playing the other games than he was with the whole father/son bit. He kept forgetting and calling Harry Potter, and Snape seemed to have no clue what fathers did during the day with their sons. They did a few chores around the house once Harry was allowed out of the corner, but it was all rather lame, Harry thought, and he found himself frustrated by lunchtime with Snape's lack of imagination.

"This is rubbish!" Harry declared as they sat down to sandwiches and cups of cold water. "Why can't you do this better? You were so mean all these days, and now you can't remember how to do anything. I know you're not doing it right, but I don't remember my father - do you remember yours?"

Snape froze, his face paler than usual. "Yes," he whispered.

"What was he like? Can you be like that?"

"Certainly," Snape said coldly. "I can be exactly like him." He took a deep breath. "You worthless piece of dung, you magical freak, I should beat you to death, you and your cow of a mother."

Harry's eyes grew big and horrified at the venom in Snape's voice.

"I wish you could stay at the school forever so I don't have to see your ugly face, so you don't come back here and lay around like the useless lump you are. I hate your hair, your nose, your nasty teeth. Why don't you do us all a favor and just die?"

Snape jumped up from his seat and went out of the kitchen, seething.

Harry sat still in his seat, barely moving. Had Snape's father actually said those things? Harry knew they were not about him, but still they hurt, stinging and making the corners of his eyes prick.

Harry sat all alone in the kitchen for a moment, and then he made a decision. He stood up, walked out the kitchen door into the garden, and headed for the huge tree. Vampyr was nowhere to be seen, and Harry began to climb the tree.

He had gotten high enough to see over the garden wall, and he could see the other houses, exactly like Snape's but most looking abandoned. Harry began to crawl out on a limb that would allow him to drop down on the other side of the wall.

He turned his body to let himself hang by his arms before he jumped, but as he moved, his twisted suspenders snagged on the edge of a broken branch.

Harry found himself hanging in mid-air with his suspenders pulled tight against his chest and his trousers, refusing to let him fall. Harry squirmed, hoping to pull himself free, but his suspenders only drew farther down the branch, keeping him up in the air.

Harry tried to reach back, but he couldn't get his fingers far enough to touch the back of the suspenders.

Hedwig came into sight, flying down in front of him and hooting at him.

"I'm trying," Harry protested.

He suddenly reached to the front of his trousers and began unbuttoning the front of the suspenders. They were pulling very tight, and he wiggled back and forth to loosen them.

Then something truly awful happened. The front suspenders came free, but the back was still caught the tree. Harry flipped forward, falling head first towards the ground. He yelled, but then something caught him. His trousers were pulled off, but caught around his ankles.

Harry found himself hanging upside down, his shirt sliding down to bunch under his chin, his boxers giving him the last bit of dignity as he hung with his trousers holding his ankles up.

Harry was sure he would fall any moment, and then he hoped he would because from his position he could see the top half of the kitchen door to Snape's house.

And the door was opening slowly as Harry swayed from the tree branch.


	9. Chapter 9 His Mother

AN: Thanks for the incredible reviews. I love them all.

Disclaimer: I do not own.

--

Upside-down, Harry kept trying to look at the doorway, but he could not see anyone coming out. He had twisted to see the door, but when he couldn't any longer, he let his body hang straight. And then he saw the scariest thing ever – an upside-down Snape watching him.

Harry cried out and jerked in fear. He felt the suspenders dig the trousers into his ankles, and he swayed dizzily.

Snape gave a short, bitter laugh. "Oh, how perfectly poetic. Sweet poetic justice."

Harry was not sure what could be poetic about him hanging upside down, but he said nothing.

"The fact that you hang there in your underwear, completely helpless," Snape observed. "I only wish all of Hogwarts was here to see your humiliation."

Harry thought that was the only thing that could have been worse – having his friends and schoolmates see him hanging in his underwear.

"Perhaps I should take pictures," Snape went on, taking a step towards the hanging boy. "Then owl them to every single student."

"No!" Harry shouted. "Don't! I – I wasn't running away. I mean, I just went up the tree to – to see if I could see anything. And then I kind of fell."

"Ha!" Snape snorted. "Don't lie to me, Potter, you're already in enough trouble."

"You were awful to me," Harry yelled back. "You're mental as Ron would say, completely mad."

"I'm not the one hanging upside-down in my underwear," Snape observed. "But if you would rather stay there, I'll have Vampyr come get you once you fall."

Harry looked down at the ground below. It was at least six feet to the ground, and Harry knew a fall on his head would hurt if not break his neck.

Suddenly, he felt the suspenders start to slip.

"Ahh!" he flailed his arms as he slid down several inches. "No, I'm going fall. Just let me down."

He didn't move his legs at all, but he knew any moment he would be falling through the air while Snape watched with cruel satisfaction.

Then the suspenders broke.

Harry felt himself free falling through the air, and he yelled, but he never hit the ground. Instead, he found himself jerking to a halt a few inches above the ground. Before he had time to puzzle it out, strong hands grabbed him around the waist, and Harry was thrown over Snape's shoulder.

He felt Snape's arms tighten around the back of his legs, and Harry suddenly threw his hands back to cover his bottom. It was a silly, childish impulse, but he had a feeling that Snape would smack him on the way to the house and Harry did not want to be smacked.

"Ha, as if that really would have stopped me," Snape sneered. "No, young man, your punishment will be much more severe. You do not run away from me."

Harry opened his mouth to declare that Snape wasn't playing the game right, but he hesitated. He was not quite sure, but he guessed that most children were not allowed to leave home without informing a parent first. At Hogwarts, he had to stay on the grounds, and if he didn't come back in time for supper or bedtime, he guessed someone would have come looking for him, probably upset at him for running off. So maybe Snape was playing the game right.

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry apologized. He felt mortified, being carried over Snape's shoulder with his trousers still down, but Snape headed right for the house without another word.

They went into the kitchen, and Vampyr barked angrily.

"I know," Snape agreed with the dog. He carried Harry into the hall and then into the living room. Snape sat down in one of the chairs and pulled Harry over his knee.

The last time Harry had been in this position in this room, Snape had spanked him very hard and then shoved him to the ground. Harry didn't try to get away, but he grabbed the leg of the chair with one hand and a fistful of Snape's trouser leg with the other. Hopefully, this way he would not hurt his arms when Snape shoved him off his lap.

"You don't try to leave," Snape lectured. "And that was a very dangerous thing you did, trying to jump off such a high branch. You didn't have your blasted broom – you can't fly without it."

Snape spanked him, a stern swat but not as bad as Harry had been expecting.

"You could have broken your neck, you wretched boy. I know I did not leave the kitchen in the best of terms, but that's no excuse to try to hang upside down from tree branches."

Snape gave him nine more swats, and Harry winced at each of them, but he did not cry yet.

He felt Snape shift, and Harry braced himself for more. His bottom was very warm and somewhat uncomfortable, but he knew Snape would not stop until he was sobbing, begging for mercy which would never come because –

"All right," Snape grabbed him around the waist. "Up you go. Let go of my trousers! There," he stood Harry up in front of him, "let that teach you not to be so disobedient again."

Harry blinked. Were they playing the game? Was Snape really going to give him no more than ten smacks, which had not hurt that much, only made Harry feel in disgrace?

Snape did not offer him time to mull it over; after yanking up his trousers, Snape grabbed Harry by the ear and led him to the kitchen corner. "Fifteen minutes there, Harry, and then you're going to sit down and study your lessons and you're not going outside for the rest of the day."

That did not seem much of a punishment after some of the things Snape had put him through, but Harry thought it better not to argue and meekly took his place there.

As he stared at the intersection of the walls, Harry kept replaying the last half hour in his mind over and over again. Snape bursting out in temper, Harry overwhelmed and scrambling up a tree, hanging like that from the branch, Snape not letting him fall, Snape giving him a stern warning about being safe. It was the strangest thing in the world – he had expected Snape to tear him to pieces, the same man who had dropped him in a dungeon two days ago for mouthing off. Instead, Snape had delivered a scolding and a few good wallops to reprimand him, and to Harry's horror, it seemed so paternal, something like a father would do, though Harry could not be sure because he had never had a father.

Suddenly, his eyes pricked as his cheeks turned red. For the life of him he could not say why, but he wished very badly right then that he had not tried to run away. He had not really expected to escape, but the fact that Snape had to rescue him made Harry feel awful. The dungeon part had been Snape's fault, but this was not. Harry had run because he thought it would be easier than trying to stay with Snape.

He sniffed in hopes of pushing back tears.

"What are you crying for?" Snape demanded from behind him. "I barely spanked you. If I were my father, I would have beaten you half to death. But I'm not, and you got exactly what you deserved, you horrid –er, you naughty boy."

"I'm sorry," the words fell effortlessly from Harry's mouth. "I just didn't think."

"Indeed you didn't. That's the problem with you, Potter – Harry. You run around jumping into things just like your fath – just like some people who jump into things. You're too impulsive."

"Sometimes," Harry admitted though he didn't want to agree completely. "But you can be mean, too."

"This is not about me," Snape reminded him. "This is about you and your growing list of faults. I don't think you can do a single thing right anymore."

Harry crossed his arms, keeping his back rigid, but two big tears rolled down his cheeks. He swiped at them quickly and crossed his arms again, but Snape saw the movement.

"Turn around," he directed. "Come on, turn to me."

Harry blinked his eyes furiously, but when he turned to face to Snape, several more tears rolled down, streaking down his hot cheeks.

"Look at these tears," Snape _tsk_ed. "I barely spanked you and you're crying like a baby."

"I-I'm sorry," Harry tried to sniff back the tears. "I just – you said – I don't think I do everything wrong."

"Well, you would think that, wouldn't you?" Snape commented, but he led Harry to the kitchen table to sit down. "Bothersome children always think they are doing their best and never realize just how useless they are." Snape reached out to feel Harry's forehead. "A bit warm. You'll relapse and get sick again and prove me right."

"I'm not sick," Harry protested, but Snape went to heat him a cup of tea.

The tea felt good to his dry throat, and as he sipped it, Harry muttered, "If I'm so bothersome, why did you kidnap me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. You're my son – you've always lived with me."

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but then he glanced up at Snape. "I can't remember, Father, but where do I go to school?"

"Hogwarts, of course," Snape snapped.

"Then am I in Slytherin?" Harry asked, feigning sweet innocence.

"No," Snape ground out. "Through some cruel twist of fate, the hat sorted you into Gryffindor."

"I see," Harry tried not to smile. "But I'm in your Potions classes, right?"

"Of course."

"Then I must be very good at Potions," Harry tried not to smile wickedly, but it was very hard. "The best in the class, since you're my father and my teacher."

"Yes, well, you've been rather lazy in Potions," Snape retorted. "Something I intend to change over the summer. Until school starts, you'll be studying a Potions textbook for an hour every morning and then showing me what you learned in the lab afterwards."

Harry groaned inwardly, but said nothing. He hated the idea of struggling in Potions over the summer – the whole summer! – but at the same time, he hoped that he might prove to Snape once and for all that he wasn't a complete idiot.

"Are you going to try to run away again?" Snape demanded.

"No, are you going to yell at me like that again and say those things?" Harry challenged.

"You asked me what my father was like. I showed you."

"You could have stopped after calling me a freak. I don't like people calling me that, no one!"

"Who calls you a freak?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

"People," Harry stared at the rim of his cup.

"Well, you are a bit of one," Snape said, but even he didn't sound convinced.

Harry glared at him, but somehow he did not want to cry like earlier. "_You're_ a freak," he muttered into his cup.

A strong hand clamped down on the back of his neck. "What did you call me?"

"I said you're my father," Harry smiled innocently.

The hand tightened briefly on his neck. "Don't be cheeky," Snape warned. "Finish that tea, then you're starting your lessons. And you don't get to step outside until tomorrow and anymore nonsense, and you won't see the garden for a week."

--

Snape made him study until mid-afternoon, but around two o'clock, Snape told him to go upstairs for a "quiet time." Harry did not know exactly what that meant, but he guessed he was to stay in his room and be quiet. Vampyr followed him upstairs, and the dog napped in the corner while Harry played on the floor. He found the iron dragon with its wings fixed along with the other figurines and a box of tin soldiers.

Harry spent the hour and a half of his "quiet time" lining up the soldiers and having each one of the black figurines attack them. Every so often one of the soldiers would charge at the figurines and manage to jump on top. One daring soldier even made it on the dragon's back, but the dragon flew right up and the poor soldier fell to the ground below, landing on his fellow comrades in broken defeat.

When Harry got tired of playing, he climbed up on his bed and looked out the window for a while. He could see Hedwig perched on the edge of the roof, and Harry wished he could pet her. But he knew he would get in trouble for opening the window, and besides, Vampyr might bite her before Harry could stop him.

He felt a little tired, probably from being sick the last two days, but Harry was determined not to go to sleep. He did not want to give Snape any reason to think that Harry need a "quiet time," and actually falling asleep might send Snape the wrong message.

Fortunately, Snape came up before Harry could fall asleep and told him it was time for him to help fix dinner. Once down in the kitchen, Harry was responsible for peeling the potatoes and putting them into hot water to boil before slicing bread to be toasted. Snape was cooking some kind of meat and they were also having fruit, but Snape said he would do the fruit last.

Harry sat at the table and tried to work the short knife around the potatoes, but they were slippery and he was used to handling a peeler and not an actual knife. It took him several minutes to finish the first potato, but on the second, the knife slipped and sliced into his thumb.

"Ow!" Harry hissed, quickly putting his throbbing thumb in his mouth. The metallic taste of blood danced on his tongue, and he sucked the digit hard, trying to stop the flow.

"Are you sucking your thumb?" Snape looked outraged, and he stepped forward to snatch Harry's hand away from his mouth.

"No, I cut it," Harry told him, pulling on his hand.

"Clumsy," Snape frowned. He whisked out his wand, pressed the tip to the bleeding cut, and murmured an incantation. The pain disappeared as the cut healed over, and Snape dropped his hand with a stern look. "Stop playing around."

"I wasn't – oh, I'm working," Harry heeded the warning look and grabbed the half-peeled potato.

"One without blood on it," Snape grabbed the potato and flung it in the waist bin.

Harry wished he could think of some clever little barb to fling back at Snape, maybe something about how Snape liked to drink blood because he was a vampire, but Harry couldn't get it to sound right in his head so he stayed quiet.

It took him longer to peel the potatoes as he went very slowly, but Snape made no comment and just set him to work on the bread when he had finished. All in all, cut thumb aside, it was not too bad helping Snape prepare supper. Harry had been used to fixing meals at the Dursleys, but there he wanted to finish as quickly as possible and get out of Aunt Petunia's way. Here in the rustic kitchen, Harry didn't mind waiting for the bread to brown, and he sat in his chair and watched the clock count down the five minutes that the fire oven would take to toast.

And sitting down to supper was nice, well as nice as supper with Snape could possible be. The man kept sneering at Harry, frowning and making short remarks like "The potatoes" or "The bread" when he wanted something passed. Harry ate hungrily and helped to clear the table afterwards and dried the dishes. Once the kitchen was clean, Harry followed Snape back to the living room. Snape sat in one of the worn armchairs. and Harry sat in a small chair across from him.

Snape picked up the day's edition of the _Daily Prophet_ and pretended to read it. When Harry kept watching him without glancing away, Snape lowered the paper with a huff.

"What?" Snape demanded.

"Is what families do in the evening?" Harry asked. "Wizarding families?"

"I don't know," Snape retorted before he had time to think. "I mean, we probably read during the evening."

"I read all morning," Harry objected. "I don't want to read anymore."

"Then you can go to bed."

"It's barely eight o'clock. Ron never said he went to bed this early. He plays games with his brothers at night."

"You don't have any brothers," Snape grumbled, flipping through the paper as if disgruntled with the news that day.

"What about my mother?" Harry asked suddenly.

Snape jerked the paper down. "What?"

"My mother. If you're my father, what happened to my mother?"

Snape looked enraged for a moment, but then his eyes gleamed. "Your mother was Lily Evans."

So his mother was the same, but his father was Snape? Harry felt rather irritated that James Potter got left out completely, but at least he got to keep his mother. "Did she still die protecting me?" Harry inquired.

Snape swallowed so hard Harry could see his throat constricting. "Yes," the man answered hoarsely, "she did."

"Can you tell me about her?" Harry went on. He doubted Snape knew anything about his mother – after all he could not picture his pretty, smiling mother ever wanting to be around a grouchy bat like Snape. But it would be nice to hear someone talk about her, even if only to make up stories about her like Harry did. Many nights he had stayed awake in his cupboard and imagined how his parents met and what they would be like if they were still alive.

Snape shook his head quickly, refusing to speak.

"I know she went to Hogwarts, and I guess you went to Hogwarts, too," Harry leaned back against his chair. "Did you ever see her there?"

"Yes, I saw her. I saw her quite a bit," Snape stood up abruptly. "Enough about her."

"No one ever wants to talk about my parents," Harry sighed. "They pretend like they never existed, like I don't want to hear about them. Why won't they tell me?"

"I said enough," Snape went to the shelves and came back, dropping a flat box on the table beside Harry's chair. "Open that – we're going to play chess."

Harry did not want to play chess at the moment – he wanted answers about his parents. But he opened the box and took out the board. Harry was not as good at chess as Ron, but he put up a fair fight, and it took Snape almost an hour to beat him. They played another game which Snape also won, but just by a little.

By the end of the second game, Harry was yawning continually. Snape sent him up to bed, and as he left the bathroom, Harry bent to pet Vampyr good night. He stroked his hand over the dog's head twice before climbing into bed, and the dog did not bark or push him away. Snape came up at few minutes later, demanding if he had brushed his teeth or not. When Harry said yes, Snape told him to go to sleep.

"Good night, Father," Harry yawned as he slumped into the pillow.

He fell asleep immediately, but throughout the warm night, he kept dreaming of a picture of his parents. His mother was smiling with her lovely red hair dancing around her face, but instead of James Potter, Snape stood by his mother in the picture. And though Snape was not smiling, he looked calm and content in the picture as if he was finally where he belonged.


	10. Chapter 10 Hate

AN: Another chapter – hope you like. Someone said they liked the dog so I tried to add a lot of Vampyr.

Thank you again for the incredible reviews. Every time I read them, I get ideas for the next chapter. You all rock!

Disclaimer: I do not own.

--

Harry slumped into his seat at the table and sighed.

Snape dropped a plate of breakfast food in front of him and sat down across from him with his own plate of food.

Harry tried again, letting his breath out heavily for the space of three seconds. Snape looked at him sourly.

"Whatever you're trying to accomplish, I'm not interested. Eat your food."

"What are we doing today?" Harry asked as he picked up his fork.

"Same thing we do everyday."

"I'm tired of studying," Harry protested. "That's all I've done forever. Let's do something else – something exciting."

Snape stared at him. "Have you lost your mind?"

"No, but I was just thinking that if we were playing family, maybe we could pretend to go somewhere. Like the beach or a drive or a train trip. But then we would really go. Don't families go places on holiday?"

"Not this family," Snape growled at him.

"Are we too poor?" Harry asked frankly, nodding along as if he understood. "We're a poor family who can't afford to leave our house, and we have to count out coins to buy food and I have to wear second-hand clothes and you don't know how you're going to find money for my schoolbooks and sometimes we have to sell furniture just to buy food –"

"That's enough!" Snape interrupted, setting his fork down loudly. "We are not poor. We're not going on holiday because I refuse to let you have a moment of fun for the whole summer. I want you miserable."

Harry wanted to pout, but then he realized that would make Snape happy so Harry smiled instead. "How could I miserable while I'm here with you, Father?"

Snape glared at him, but Harry just kept smiling as he ate. Snape frustrated him to no end – every time Harry thought he was getting a little nicer, not a complete bastard though still a git, the man turned the tables and found new ways to torment Harry.

"Well, I'm not studying anymore," Harry declared. "It's summer, and I've done all my homework. I'm ahead on everything. Any more studying, and I won't need to go to Hogwarts this year at all."

Snape smirked, but said nothing.

"Can I play outside today?" Harry asked next, finished with his breakfast.

"No, you'll run away."

"I won't – let me take Vampyr with me. He won't let me run away."

Vampyr, hearing his name, lifted his head to give a short bark.

"See? He wants to come," Harry pointed out. "I can work in the garden for a while, watering stuff while he watches me."

Snape looked torn. "Maybe for a little while, but I don't want you climbing trees. I see you climbing them, and you won't like what happens next."

"I said I won't do it again," Harry protested though he wasn't sure he had said any such thing. "I don't try the same bad thing twice."

"Because I don't give you the chance," Snape smiled coldly. "I have to stay on top of you for everything, you wretched little –"

The knocker on the front door suddenly banged, the rapping sound echoing through the small house.

Harry blinked and looked up at Snape for a clue as to who was at the door, but the man had frozen in fear.

"Severus?" the person who had knocked called out loud enough for them to hear in the kitchen. "Severus, are you there?"

"Dumbledore?" Harry whispered in shock.

Then he leapt out of his chair, yelling out "_Dumbledore, Dumbledore!"_

Only he never said the words. Snape hit him with a silencing spell the moment Harry opened his mouth.

Harry clutched a hand to his throat, staring at Snape in horror. Then Harry made a split-second decision – he ran. He ran down the hall as fast as he could.

He could see the front door before him. Dumbledore was on the other side, and the kind old man would save him. Snape would be locked up, and Harry would be safe.

Harry reached a hand out to grab the locked door when Snape snatched him away.

"Just a minute, headmaster," Snape shouted. "I'll be right there."

In Snape's grasp, Harry fought like a wild animal. He twisted and jerked, trying to stomp on Snape's shoes or scratch his arms or bite him. But Snape wrapped both arms around Harry's thin torso, lifting him up into the air.

Harry tried to scream, but no sound came out, and he focused all his energy on breaking loose from Snape. Vampyr was beside them, barking and yapping between the closed door and Harry's struggles.

"Sorry, headmaster," Snape shouted. "It's the dog – he doesn't like strangers."

Snape turned Harry sharply and flung the boy over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Harry writhed back and forth, but Snape tightened his grip and delivered several sharp smacks to Harry's rear in effort to calm him down.

Harry was set to destroy Snape one way or another, and a few spanks were not about to stop him. He pounded at Snape's back and pulled at his clothing, spitting and baring his teeth as he fought the man. But Snape was stronger, and before Harry could break free, Snape was carrying him up the stairs, away from the door.

Still fighting, Harry watched the front door go farther and farther away, and he felt something inside him breaking.

"You should be grateful I'm not dropping you into the cellar," Snape growled as he stalked into Harry's bedroom. "You're going to stay up here, good and quiet, while I have a little chat with the headmaster."

Snape dropped Harry on the bed, and the moment he was free, Harry fought to get up off the bed. But Snape rolled him onto his stomach and bellowed, "_Immobulous_!"

Harry felt his body freeze, and he could not move.

Snape reached down to grip Harry's chin and the back of his neck. Harry panicked, thinking Snape meant to break his neck, but he could not move, could not scream for Dumbledore to help him.

However, Snape just slowly turned Harry's head to the side so he could breathe freely, and the man rested a hand on his back for a second.

"I'll give you a while to think about this temper tantrum. Vampyr, stay up here with this naughty one and feel free to bite him."

Harry felt the hand leave his back, and he heard Snape's footsteps fade away. The moment he was gone, Harry tried to move his body, even just a leg or arm that he could use to bang for help. But he couldn't budge an inch. Next he tried to speak, to make even a little sound of protest, but his voice refused to work.

He was trapped, and Dumbledore would never know he was here. Snape would never let him go free – Harry was trapped with an evil man who would never let him go, never let him see his friends again, never let him be happy or excited about anything as long as he lived.

The tears came then. Hot and painful, they leaked out of Harry's eyes and rolled down the side of his face underneath his glasses until they fell to the sheet below.

Harry did not even try to stop them. He just cried, unable to shake with sobs, but crying hard with no way of wiping away his tears.

Vampyr grew anxious and barked once or twice, but when it became clear that Snape was not coming, the dog growled for Harry to stop. When Harry kept crying, Vampyr put his paws up on the bed and laid its huge, ugly head on Harry's back. Harry felt the dog moving its head, trying to comfort Harry the only way he could. If Harry could have moved, the only thing he would have done was wrap his arms around the dog's neck and hug him close while he cried.

It was not too long until footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Snape said from the doorway, "Dumbledore's gone now."

Harry closed his eyes and more tears came, dampening further the cold wet spot under his face.

"_Finite incantum_," Snape said in a low voice.

Harry felt his body loosen, and his throat felt different. Vampyr lifted his head, and Harry rolled on his back, refusing to look at Snape.

The man stood in the doorway, half-angry, half-reluctant. "I'm sorry I had to do that, but you left me no choice."

"Go away," Harry stared up at the ceiling.

"It's complicated," Snape tried again, but Harry shook his head.

"No, it's not. You wanted me miserable – well now you have it. I hate you now. I hate you so much."

"Stop it, Potter," Snape ordered, but there was no bite in his voice, just weariness.

"Don't talk to me. I hate you."

"You don't talk to me like that," Snape declared. "You will show me respect or –"

"I hate you," Harry repeated in a flat voice. "You can beat me, starve me, make me sick, hurt me, whatever you like, but I will always hate you."

"No, you don't," Snape raised his voice a notch. "You're just hysterical. I should put you back in the bind and leave you here for the rest of the day."

"I would still hate you," Harry clenched his hands together and pressed down on his stomach, feeling very dizzy.

Snape turned to go and then whirled back in exasperation. "No, you don't hate me. I won't let you hate me. It's out of the question. You're my son –"

"I'm not playing anymore," Harry decided. "I am done playing with you. You're mean and cruel and ugly and angry and everything I don't like. My relatives weren't nice to me, but I never hated them the way I hate you. My relatives called me a freak, but you're a wizard, too, and you should know how it feels. You – I hope you die, and I hope you die screaming."

"That's enough," Snape ordered, but Harry sat up, greens eyes blazing.

"I hate you!" he screamed so loud that the windows shook and Vampyr whined. "Get away from me, you rotten foul bastard."

"I will not," Snape yelled back. "You're mine now – you belong to me."

"Never!" Harry shrieked

"Yes, you do," Snape bellowed. "I loved your mother – she should have married me. You should be my son – Harry Severus Snape."

"You're lying!" Harry was beginning to lose his vision from screaming. The room spun beneath him. "You're filthy liar!"

"That note you found downstairs? That was from your mother the day she married that arrogant ass of a Potter. That should have been me beside her, me who married her. I loved her before anyone else did – I realized she was a witch even before she did. I rode with her on the train the first day of school, me. You should be mine!"

Harry shook his head in denial, wishing he could run. "No, no, you're lying."

He kept trying to picture what was on that letter he had found in the library. But it had been beside that book, that book about lilies. It wasn't true, it couldn't be true. His beautiful sweet mother with her kind smile beside his dad – Snape loving her.

Harry's dream came rushing back, Snape and his mother in the picture together, and it was too awful, the thought of the horrible man who had kidnapped him in love with his mother –

For a moment, Harry thought he would be sick, but instead of vomiting, his tears started again. And this time he let them come and even tried to push them on, wanting to concentrate on crying rather than what Snape had said.

"No," Harry choked on his sobs, "you're wrong. You're wrong. I can't – I can't – please, I can't. I can't breathe! C-can't breathe. Snape, can't –"

Harry felt his throat closing up, and the air wheezing from his lungs. A moment later, Snape stood beside him. Snape grabbed his wrists and pulled his arms up above his head. "Keep them up – they'll help you breathe easier. Now, concentrate on drawing the air in and out. No, Potter, stop hyperventilating."

Snape placed a hand on his chest to help regulate his breathing, but Harry slapped at his wrist. Snape gave him a warning look, but Harry no longer cared about what happened to himself. He shot his foot out and kicked Snape in the knee.

Snape's eyes widened in pain and surprise. Harry kicked him again, his shoes connecting solidly with Snape's knee.

Snape hissed and reached out to grab him, but Harry caught his hand and sunk his teeth into his hand, just below his potion-stained thumb.

"Ow!" Snape yanked his hand back and swore.

"You like that?" Harry yelled. "You like how that feels? Well, times it times a hundred and you'll know how I feel."

"You must be suicidal," Snape snarled, massaging his bitten hand with the fingers of his other hand. "What do think I'm going to do to you?"

Panic attack completely forgotten, Harry yelled, "I don't know, but it can't be anything compared to what I'm about to do to you."

"You're completely insane," Snape sneered. "Just – insane!"

"You too!"

They stood there, facing each other, ready to tear the other apart.

"Fine," Snape finally retorted. "You can just stay up here for the rest of the day until you learn to control yourself."

"I hate you," Harry told him.

Snape's eyes opened a bit wider, making him look crazy, and then Snape whirled to stalk to the hall, slamming the door behind him.

"Prat," Harry muttered.

He looked at Vampyr who was crouched in the corner where he had been ever since the shouting match began.

"He didn't love my mother," Harry told the dog. "He couldn't – and even if he did, she didn't love him. My mum would never even look at him. She wouldn't."

The dog which had bit his foot the first time they had met came over and looked up at Harry with sad eyes.

"I hate it here," Harry whispered. Two more tears rolled down his cheeks. He pulled his glasses off and swiped his arm over his eyes.

Vampyr set his head on Harry's knee, looking up at the boy. Harry sniffed and then reached down to pet the dog's head. He ran his cold fingers though the dog's thick black fur, running over and over on top of the dog's head. He found himself talking to the huge animal, telling the dog how he felt about Snape and the house and the way Snape treated him and the stupid games they played that Snape did not play right.

"And it was Dumbledore," Harry went on as he scratched Vampyr's neck. "Dumbledore! How could Snape keep me away from Dumbledore? I didn't like it here, but it was all right until Dumbledore came and I couldn't see him. Why couldn't I see him? I hate Snape for this – I really do."

The dog kept comforting him, nuzzling Harry's stomach as gently as he could.

"I wish we could run away together," Harry sighed. "Would you run with me? We could go somewhere far away, live in the woods, just you and me. We don't need anyone else, and no one cares about us anyway."

He went on in this fashion for a while, and when he felt calmer, he got on the floor to line up the soldiers like an army. Vampyr kept knocking them over accidentally, but Harry didn't mind too much as it gave him something to do for a while.

Footsteps sounded a few hours later, and Snape opened the door. "It's lunchtime."

Harry ignored him, continuing to play with his soldiers.

"I said it's lunchtime – come along, Potter."

Harry still did not move – he wouldn't even give Snape the satisfaction of looking at him.

"Harry, come to lunch," Snape raised his voice slightly. When he was still ignored, he threatened, "You can come to lunch on your own or I can carry you. Which will it be?"

Harry had no intention of ever letting Snape near him again so he got up and walked past Snape towards the hall. Harry did not make a run for the front door; he guessed it was locked, and he refused to have Snape catch him again.

He sat down at the kitchen table, but when Snape set the plate of sandwich, fruit, and crisps in front of him along with a glass of milk, Harry ignored the food. Snape ate his own food for several minutes of silence until he said,

"Enough pouting. Eat your lunch."

Harry looked over at the empty corner where he had been made to stand before, back when he had only disliked Snape. Now that he hated him, Harry felt only rage at being punished for things that weren't even his fault.

"Eat your food," Snape ordered. "Eat it, Harry. Stop being stubborn and eat it. Do you want to be punished for disobeying me?"

Harry did not answer, watching the corner in tense silence.

Snape put his sandwich down and came around the table. Harry tensed, ready to fight should Snape try to punish him. But Snape only picked the untouched sandwich off the plate and thrust it out towards him.

"Eat it."

Harry turned his head away, but Snape was insistent. He followed the direction of Harry's mouth with the sandwich. "Eat the sandwich – take a bite."

Harry pressed his lips together tightly. Snape pushed the sandwich against his mouth, mashing the bread and meat against his lips.

"You are going to eat this sandwich," Snape decided, "even if it's the last thing you do."

Harry shook his head, but Snape grabbed his chin with his free hand. The grip around his jaw hurt, but Harry refused to open. He could sit there all day if Snape wanted to.

"You open your mouth or I will use the Imperious Curse on you," Snape threatened.

"Hm?" Harry looked up at him, confused but still mouth shut.

"Yes, I would risk going to Azkaban just so you eat this sandwich," Snape growled as he tried to pry Harry's mouth open. "Now, you're going to take a bite."

The pressure on his jaw was getting too tight, and Harry relented to open his mouth an inch. Snape shoved the sandwich in, and Harry took a bite. Then he closed his lips again, the bite of sandwich resting on his tongue.

"Well, chew it," Snape ordered, dropping the rest of the sandwich on the plate.

Harry raised obstinate eyes up to Snape and did not move his mouth.

"You have to chew it," Snape declared.

Harry leaned to the side and spit the sandwich on the floor. "I hate you," he told Snape.

Snape's eyes flashed, and he lifted his hand up. Harry flinched, his own hands rising instinctively to cover his face.

"Put those down," Snape commanded. "I'm not going to slap you, though you do deserve it. You have to eat lunch."

"Why?" Harry shot back. "You want me miserable – why not starve me?"

"Because you're too thin already," Snape said. "You weighed next to nothing when I picked you up this morning and the other day when I carried you up from the cellar. You need all your meals and you're going to eat that."

"You can make me eat, but you can't make me swallow."

"I can make you eat everything inside this kitchen if I want," Snape argued. "One flick of this wand, and you'll be tearing through the ice box like you haven't eaten in a week."

"Then I'll throw it up the minute you let me free."

"You horrid brat, no wonder your family hates you."

Harry blinked. When did Snape learn about his family life? Surely Dumbledore wouldn't tell Snape anything about –

Snape took advantage of his confusion to tear off a piece of sandwich and stuff it in his mouth. Harry tried to spit it out, but Snape clamped a hand over his mouth.

"Chew it and swallow, chew it and swallow."

Harry's eyes watered as he chewed, and he felt tired and frustrated and exhausted. Who knew fighting eating lunch could be so stressful? Once he swallowed, Snape picked up the glass milk.

"Take a sip of this. I swear, if you spit it out, you'll mopping the kitchen floor all afternoon."

Harry took a gulp of the milk – Snape wouldn't let him hold the glass – and it tasted good, cold and soothing to his sore throat. Snape set the glass aside and picked the rest of the sandwich.

"I'll eat it," Harry held out his hand.

Snape looked doubtfully but handed over the sandwich, warning, "You throw that on the floor, and I'll grind everything together and feed it to you through a straw."

Harry glared at him, but began taking small bites of the sandwich. Snape returned to his own lunch, and they ate in silence for a few minutes.

Once they were mostly done (Snape was taking a second cup of tea and Harry was picking at the last of his fruit), Harry decided it was time to speak out.

"What's going to happen to me?"

Snape took a sip of tea. "You're going to wash the dishes and study for the rest of the day. Anymore nonsense, and you'll be taking a nap."

"No," Harry shook his head, "not for today. What's going to happen to me here?"

Snape took another sip of tea and said nothing.

"You didn't let me see Dumbledore," Harry pointed out. "You didn't let me talk or move, and then you said those horrible things. I want to know what you plan to do with me, and I want to know now. I think I should get that much, even if I don't like what you're going to do. I should know."

Snape set his teacup down and cleared his throat. "Very well. I'll tell you what I plan to do with you."


	11. Chapter 11 Truth

AN: Sorry this chapter is so short but I wanted to post something tonight.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of this

--

Harry waited anxiously for Snape to continue, to announce his fate.

"Take another sip of milk first – don't want you dehydrated," Snape nodded to the glass.

Harry grabbed the milk and swallowed the rest of it, hastily wiping a hand over his mouth once he was done and setting the glass back on the table. "All right, I'm done."

"Good. Well, I could try and keep you in suspense, but I would hate to keep you in agony. Best to learn the truth, right from one's own lips. In short, I plan to keep you here for now. Wait," Snape held up a hand before Harry could protest, "let me finish and then you can tell me you how you feel."

Harry pressed his lips together, distrustful of Snape, but wanting to hear what the man would say.

"You are all alone," Snape said quietly. "No one cares about you, not your family at least. You have been missing for days and do they care? Not a bit. The other night when you were tucked in bed with Vampyr to watch you, I went to your uncle's home. They were sitting in the living room, completely calm and uncaring that their dear nephew had disappeared."

Harry wasn't really surprised that the Dursleys felt that way about him, but he refused to tell Snape that.

"You know your family hates you, don't you?" Snape prodded gently.

"Yes, I do," Harry nodded before he could stop himself.

The corners of Snape's mouth lifted quickly, but then his face went blank again. "Why should I not keep you, a friendless little boy who no one cares about? I see no reason to let you go."

Snape waited a few seconds to see if Harry had any sort of response, but when Harry said nothing, Snape continued,

"Of course, your next concern should be how long I plan to keep you. Aren't you curious?"

"Yes," Harry blurted, "yes, I want to know."

"I could be arrogant and say _forever_," Snape remarked carelessly. "But that would not be true. Eventually I would die before you and you could escape, say fifty years from now. But you're such a cunning, clever boy. I daresay you could escape successfully when you are nineteen, twenty, if you really wanted to. I could tell you that I will be holding you captive for the next eight years, but that is such a long time to a very little boy. And that last thing I want to do is break your spirit."

Snape took a sip of tea and Harry leaned forward, desperate for the man to continue.

"So," Snape set the tea down, "I will be keeping you the rest of the summer. You will stay here, exactly how you have been, sleeping in your same room, wearing the same clothes, studying your lesson, and calling me 'Father.' Should you behave yourself and obey me and do exactly what you're told without arguing, there is a chance, a very small chance, that I will allow you to go back to Hogwarts."

Harry sucked in a grateful breath, relieved more than he could say at Snape's words. He knew Snape would probably not let him go, but at least there was the possible of a chance, a tiny glimmer of hope in all the darkness.

Snape smiled. "But if you are naughty and rebellious and I decide you can't go to Hogwarts, then you will remain here with me indefinitely. Do you think you can be good enough to persuade me to let you go?"

"No," Harry answered bluntly. His eyes opened wide at his answer, and he covered his mouth, wondering where that came from.

"Yes," Snape's eyes gleamed, "now we arrive at the truth of the matter. Do you think that this is a nice house, Harry?"

"No, it's small and ugly," Harry said from behind his hand. He blinked, dropping his hand. "What – why – what's happening to me?"

"Ah," Snape leaned back in his chair and pulled out a small vial, "I slipped a bit of this into your milk which you have drunk so quickly. Veritaserum. Colorless, odorless, tasteless, and you drank it all. Do you know what that is?"

"No, I don't. Is it poison?" Harry gulped. His stomach began to tighten, and he wondered if he could throw up before the potion took effect, whatever it was.

"Truth serum," Snape looked positively evil with glee. "Highly toxic, completely effective, and illegal to use on students. Whatever questions I ask you, you will have to answer truthfully, no matter what I ask. Shall we have a little question and answer right now?"

"No, I don't want to," Harry objected. His mouth was moving without his permission, his lips forming words against his will. "Please . . ."

"What is your name?" Snape asked him, ignoring his pleas.

"Harry James Potter."

"And how old are you?" Snape ran his thumb over the top of the vial, looking at it instead of Harry.

"Eleven, almost twelve."

"And do you like living here?" Snape shot him a hard glance.

"No," Harry blurted out. "Yes, no, yes – I don't know."

"You feel conflicted?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," Harry nodded, praying tears would not fill his eyes which were already stinging.

"Do you like playing with your toys in your room?" Snape ran his fingers lovingly over the vial, rolling the object up and down in his hand.

"Yes."

"And which toy is your favorite?"

"The dragon," Harry replied, hating the feeling of his mouth moving of its own accord. "With or without its wings, though I like it better with the wings on."

"Do you like Vampyr?"

"Yes, I like him now," Harry replied. "But not at first – he was mean to me and I was scared that he would bite me. But I like him now."

"Do you like the games we play?"

"Not really. You keep changing and I get confused."

"Do you think I'm good at playing the games?" Snape tucked the vial back in his pocket and turned his full concentration upon Harry.

"No, you're bad at them," Harry winced at his own voice. He tried to keep his mouth shut, his teeth clenched tight together, but the moment Snape asked a question, Harry had to answer.

"Would you run away if you got the chance?"

"Yes," Harry admitted, sniffing slightly, "any chance I get though I feel bad for sneaking off."

"If you run away, do you think I would hunt you down and bring you back?"

"Yes, you would. Please, sir, let me –"

"Do you like me, Harry?" Snape's voice grew tight.

"No, you scare me."

"How do I scare you?"

"You keep changing and I don't know what's happening and I'm worried that you'll hurt me and I can't do anything because you're bigger than me."

"And smarter," Snape smirked. "Don't forget smarter." He stood up and walked behind Harry's chair.

Harry craned his neck to watch him, but Snape turned his head back. "Eyes straight ahead, Harry. No looking at me when you answer this next bit."

"Please stop," Harry begged as he looked at the table. "Don't make me answer any more questions. This isn't fair – you're making me tell you things I don't want to."

"Nonsense," Harry could hear the smile in Snape's voice, "I've been wanting to get a truthful answer out of you for some time now. You've been so naughty, lying to me all the time and thinking you're gotten away with it. Now you have no choice but to tell the truth. Do I make you feel small and helpless?"

"Yes."

"Do you fear me all the time?"

"Not always," Harry confessed.

"When?"

"When you let me play with toys and make me eat and let me sleep in a nice bed and didn't let me fall from the tree and helped me feel better after the cellar."

"But you still fear me," Snape reminded him. "Are you afraid I'm going to spank you again?"

"Yes," Harry swallowed, "but I'm more scared that you are going to hurt me in other ways. You make me feel bad when I didn't do anything."

"Do you hate me?" Snape said in a low voice.

"No," Harry felt his body start to shake, "but I don't like you when you're mean."

"But you don't hate me," Snape repeated, sounded almost satisfied. "I knew you were lying about that. You don't hate me, you can't hate me. No crying, Harry, keep yourself together. Just one more question."

Harry braced himself in his chair and raised his hands to his mouth. He knew the last question was going to be a bad one, something that would sting.

"What is your greatest fear?"

"_Mph mph_!" Harry replied.

Snape turned his chair around to find Harry pinching his lips together with his fingers, determined not to answer. Snape reached down to free his mouth, pulling one finger off at a time though Harry pinched his lips as hard as he could. Keeping both of Harry's hands in his own large hands, Snape knelt down to look Harry straight in the face.

Harry's green eyes were large and scared, and he kept shaking his head, wanting to pull his hands free.

"What is your greatest fear?" Snape repeated, his voice soft and gentle though his own eyes were intense. "Tell me right now. What is your greatest fear?"

"That I'll be all alone and no one will love me," Harry choked, hating the words as he said them. He closed his eyes, waiting for Snape's mocking laughter to fill his ears.

"There," Snape said quietly, "was that so hard?"

"Yes!" Harry cried. He yanked himself out of the chair, pulling his hands free, running for the door.

Snape caught him around the waist and held him back.

"Let me go!" Harry shouted, writhing in Snape's grasp.

"Stop it," Snape ordered. "I mean it. You're supposed to behave if you want to go to school this fall."

Baring his teeth, Harry jerked one last time and then stood still.

This was the end. Snape had beaten him. Snape had found out his worst secret, his sad pathetic little secret and exactly how Harry thought about everything. Snape had won.

"I hate you . . . some," Harry had to add the last word. "And I think my mum would have, too."

Snape whirled him around. "Say that again."

"My mum – I think she would have hated you."

Snape blanched, and then he gave a half-smile, half-sneer. "The potion's wearing off, I guess. I gave you a small dose anyway."

"No, it's not," Harry answered truthfully. "I don't think my mum would like what you've done to me."

Snape seemed at a loss for words. A muscle worked furiously in his jaw before he declared, "Well, you never got to know your mother. How would you know how she felt?"

"Because she was my mother."

"Enough," Snape stepped back.

"So you don't like it when I tell the real truth – you only like the truth when it makes you feel good? That's not the whole truth, just your truth."

"Quiet, Harry, no one wants to hear you talk. You speak only nonsense anyway, like a silly boy. No one cares about you, remember?"

"Dumbledore does," Harry crossed his arms and dug his fingers into his arm. "Dumbledore does or you would have let me talk to him. You knew he'd take me away if he saw me here. That's why you hid me upstairs. So who's the liar now?"

"I will spank you again," Snape threatened.

"Go ahead," Harry challenged, feeling rather reckless. "Then you'll know I really hate you for punishing me when I've done nothing wrong except tell the truth."

"You annoy me to death," Snape grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him towards the door.

"Where are we going?" Harry demanded, but he did not try to pull away.

"I'm putting you out to play for a while and give me a moment of peace," Snape told him. He snapped his fingers for the dog, and Vampyr trotted out the door into the warm sunshine beside Harry. "Climb any trees, and I'll put a chain around your neck like a dog and chain you to the house."

"You've threatened that already," Harry told him, very disrespectfully. "Stupid Snape can't find any new threats."

"Why should I? You're still scared of me."

Snape had him there again. Harry scowled, but Snape shut the door on him, leaving him out in the walled garden with the dog.

Harry stood there fuming for a few minutes. He wanted to believe in the chance that he might get to go school if he were good, but he knew it was just a ploy of Snape's to make Harry miserable yet again. Harry could already picture Snape's face when he would say, _"What? You thought you were actually going to school? Are you honestly gullible enough to think that I would let you go? Poor stupid Potter. . ."_

Harry lifted his head in determination. Snape might have won, but Harry would make sure that victory had no joy in it. He couldn't beat Snape, but he could annoy the man in little ways, get under his skin and irritate him.

"Watch this," he told Vampyr.

And then Harry made his way to the row of plants along one side of the garden. The garden bed needed weeding, but Harry could still see that straight row of plants among the large weeds. Quick as he could, Harry whipped off his shoes and sock and then stepped barefoot into the garden bed.

He stepped on one plant and ground it into the dirt, putting all his weight back on his heel.

Vampyr gave short yelp, but Harry protested,

"It's payback for what he did. You know I'm right."

The dog looked torn, but he stood still, watching Harry stand on the plants.

Knowing the dog wouldn't interfere, Harry began to stomp on all Snape's plants. With every one he crushed, he felt a little burst of exhilaration inside him. Take that, Snape, and that! There, that would show you, you slimy bastard!

The weeds got crushed along with the plants, but then Harry wasn't content with just smashing. He wanted to destroy the whole bed so Snape couldn't save any of his precious plants for his potions.

Falling to his knees, Harry began digging with his hands, thrusting his fingers into the dirt and yanking up handfuls. He tore at the limp plants and jerked up roots and flung dirt in the air.

Vampyr settled down on the ground behind him, watching Harry with sad eyes as the boy ruined the garden bed.

"Watch this," Harry cheered, grabbing a large handful of dirt and plants. He threw them up in the air and watching then fall in clumps of brown and green. "It's raining dirt!"

Vampyr whined, but Harry started clawing the mud again.

What a mess! Snape would never have his garden bed again. And the man could not make his nasty potions ever again.

Harry looked down at his muddy hands and got another idea. Snape had given him a bath twice and insisted on scrubbing Harry clean. Snape obviously did not want him dirty, and cleaning him again would be nothing but trouble, and anything that caused the man trouble –

Harry sunk his hands in the dirt and began to rub mud and torn leaves onto his arms. Once they were coated, he applied the dirt to his face.

"Ha!" Harry laughed. "Let's see him get this out."

He lay down in the disheveled bed and began rolling back and forth. Vampyr's head followed him back and forth as Harry turned over and over again in the mud. When Harry sat up, his clothes were smearing with grime, barely noticeable under the muck. Harry even lifted his shirt to rub the dirt on his stomach and back.

"Look at me, I'm a like a pig," Harry told the dog. "Maybe I'll track it all over his small ugly house, rub it on his books."

Harry grabbed two handfuls of the ground-up dirt and dumped it on his head, grinding the stuff into his hair. He was beginning to feel very filthy, especially as the stuff started to dry on his face. It felt slightly itchy, but he didn't care as long as he could pay Snape back. Maybe he could jump on the bed before Snape caught him, even icking his dirty feet against the walls.

Yes, he was quite disgusting now – time to show Snape.

Standing up, Harry grabbed handfuls of mud and began flinging them at the windows like snowballs. But where snowballs would have splattered and slid down the windows, the mud just splattered and stayed there. But Harry kept flinging it, hoping he could cover all the glass in dirt or maybe even break a window or two. Snape could not ignore him forever.

Sure enough, a moment later, Snape charged out the door. "Harry, what is –" his voice trailed away as he saw what Harry had done.

"Look at this," Harry taunted, flinging out his dirty arms. "Look what I did – I guess I'll never get to go to Hogwarts now. That's fine with me – I'd rather tear up your garden."

Snape strode forward, furious, but he stopped a few feet from Harry.

"I crushed all your plants. And then I rolled in them," Harry added triumphantly. "Look at me now. Just look. Your plants are all gone."

"Harry," Snape said in a hoarse voice, "not just the plants. What about the weeds?"

"They're gone, too," Harry smiled, his teeth white against his muddy face. "All crushed and rolled on and torn apart. So there!"

"That wasn't just weeds," Snape said in the same strangled voice. "That was poison ivy."


	12. Chapter 12 Hurt

Disclaimer: I do not own any of this except the dog.

--

"Oh, ow, ow," Harry protested.

"I haven't even begun yet," Snape told him, pulling on leather gloves.

"But it's going to hurt," Harry sniffed.

"Of course, it's going to hurt. You rolled in poison ivy. You don't ever, ever roll in an unknown plant!" Snape smacked Harry's bottom hard.

"Ow," Harry objected. "I'm hurting all over, and you're spanking me?"

"Quiet down," Snape replied. "I'll sponge all the dirt off you, and then you're getting a bath."

"Can't you just make a potion to make me better?" Harry asked, wincing from the burn on his stomach, back, feet, and face.

"Yes, there is a potion," Snape nodded. "Unfortunately, one of the key ingredients was the plant that you destroyed along with the poison ivy."

Harry gave a pitiful whine. As he stood in just his shorts in the kitchen, he watched Snape take a wet cloth out of the warm water, squeeze out the excess water, and approached Harry's face. Snape began to dab the damp cloth gently on his cheek bones.

"You're making it worse," Harry told him, trying to pull his face away.

"I can't rub hard, or it will grind the dirt into your skin," Snape explained, holding a gloved hand at the back of Harry's head. "Just be thankful it didn't get too far down your trousers or you would be in agony."

"I already am! Why would you have poison ivy in your garden? I didn't even think it grows here."

"It was transported from America. No, don't move, or I'll get it in your eyes. I planted the poison ivy with the antidote plant. Its magical properties make it stronger by opposition – planting it next to poison ivy ensures that it will be the strongest antidote possible. If I had any of the antidote, I could mix it into a potion. One vial and the itching, redness, and pain would disappear."

"Not fair," Harry complained.

"No, indeed it isn't," Snape agreed dourly. He took a seat and pulled Harry to stand in between his legs, preparing to bend him over the left knee.

"No!" Harry wailed, screwing his face up in dread.

"For goodness sakes," Snape snapped, "I just want to you to curve your back so the dirt will come off easier. You're more trouble than you're worth. What on earth possessed you to roll all over those plants? If you wanted to destroy my garden, why didn't you take the spade and hack at it rather than getting the plants all over your skin?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted woefully. From his position bending slightly over Snape's left knee, while the man dabbed slowly at his back, Harry felt even more vulnerable and helpless. His skin itched all over, even the places that hadn't been covered in dirt, and he tried to sneak in a quick itch to his stomach.

"Stop that," Snape ordered, knocking against his arm with his gloved hand. "No itching – you'll make it worse."

"Go faster!" Harry demanded.

"I'm going as fast as I can," Snape replied as he continued to dab. "If I rub faster, I'll get the poison ivy into your pores. Is that what you want?"

"It hurts," Harry blinked to clear his watering eyes.

"I know," Snape took a new damp cloth and moved lower on his back. "But it serves you right for ruining my garden."

"I only did it because you gave me that truth stuff. That was mean of you – there were things I didn't want you to know."

Harry raised a hand to swipe at his face, and Snape grabbed his wrist hard enough to make Harry wince.

"Not your eyes," Snape ordered sharply. "You'll get it in your eyes and then you'll be screaming."

"I hate you," Harry whimpered as he dropped his hand back down.

"I know you don't mean that," Snape said calmly. "You're just in pain now."

"A lot of it. Why didn't you warn me? Oh, please, go faster. My stomach's burning. It's burning!"

"All right," Snape grabbed Harry's wrists and moved them down to Snape's trouser-covered knee, "grab onto my knee and the fabric as hard as you need. You keep holding on until I finish. Once I'm done, I can perform a spell to take away some of the pain."

"Do it now," Harry ordered. "I want it now."

"I can't do it until I get all the dirt off," Snape protested. "It will make you very sleepy, and I want you awake so I can get it off you. Otherwise I'll have to hold you up and I might never get you clean."

Harry moaned and tightened his fingers around Snape's knee. He had been in pain before, but this itchy, burning pain was driving him mad.

"I'm going to give you a baking soda bath," Snape went on as he started on Harry's shoulder. "Doesn't that sound fun? A bath in baking soda?"

"Hysterical," Harry retorted.

"And you're getting rubbed with aloe lotion and put to bed until I make sure you're going to be all right. My word, Harry, it's all in your hair. You really are the stupidest little boy I have ever met."

"You're stupid," Harry retorted. He dug his fingers into the fabric as Snape began dabbing along his neck. The soft dabbing made Harry want to laugh and scream, so he settled for making a high noise of protest through his teeth.

"I wish I had turned the garden hose on you outside," Snape grumbled. "Turn around, time to get your front."

But the time Snape finished, Harry had stopped glaring at the man and had moved to sit on the man's knee, practically hugging Snape's waist while Snape finished with his feet. Harry bit his bottom lip to deal with pain, and his tightened his grip around Snape. Sniffing, Harry did not let go, even once Snape had tossed the dirty rag into the basin.

"All right," Snape said quietly, "do you want the spell now or after the bath?"

Harry hesitated – he hurt everywhere, but he didn't want to be asleep and have Snape carry him upstairs and bathe him like a baby. "After the bath," Harry muttered.

"Then let's go," Snape put his hands around Harry's bare waist to help him up, but Harry hissed at the touch. He stood on his own and began to limp towards the stairs. Snape followed, shaking his head at the sight of the poor boy. Harry's back was covered in angry red bumps, and even the skin on the back of his legs was looking like a bad sunburn.

Snape filled the bath with cool water, careful not to let it get too cold, and stirred in baking soda until the water turned white.

"Take your shorts off," Snape turned to step out of the room. "I'll come back when you're in the tub."

He had already seen the boy naked after the whole cellar dungeon ordeal, but he supposed that Harry would want a little privacy, considering the boy was almost twelve and really too old for anyone to give him a bath.

Harry shot him a grateful look, and Snape stepped into the hallway. He went to Harry's room and put the boy's glasses beside his bed before turning the bed down and setting out the lotion when he heard sounds of distress from the bathroom.

"Oh, no, so cold," Harry was saying in a high pitched, worried voice. "I'm freezing – he's trying to freeze me. Ugly bat, why is it so cold? Oh, that's better. Feels better, but I still have to sit down."

Snape's lips twitched suddenly at the thought of a beet-red Potter standing in the bath and trying to make himself sit down in the cool water. The water would have been a shock to anyone, but to a child with irritated red skin . . .

Just to raise the boy's torture, Snape called out, "I'm coming in there in four seconds. Four, three –"

"No, don't!" Harry called from the bathroom. "I'm going down, I promise. Ah – ahhh – almost there."

"Two, one," Snape said as he walked to the bathroom. The sight made him want to smile again, but fortunately he was able to school his features into a scowl.

Harry was gripping the side of the tub for dear life. His legs were in the water and he had lowered his bottom enough for modesty's sake, but his stomach and arms were still dry.

"I'm in the water," Harry offered as an excuse, but Snape shook his head.

"No, young man, all the way down. Lower."

Harry lowered himself several inches, his face a picture of agony at the coolness of the water.

"Lower," Snape gave him his stern father look, the one that promised trouble if Harry did not obey.

Harry went down a few more inches, whining slightly.

"Sit on the bottom of the tub and put your arms down," Snape ordered.

All sad-puppy eyes and pie-crust lips, Harry sat down in the tub and let his arms ease down into the murky bath.

"Now lean back against the tub until the water comes up to your chin," Snape instructed. He smirked as the boy whimpered as he leaned back with excruciating slowness until his shoulders were covered.

"Now go underwater," Snape told him.

"What?" Harry's gaze shot up in concern.

"Don't want to go underwater? Well, I suppose I can be persuaded to pour the water over your head. Close your eyes, Potter."

"It's _Harry_," Harry replied as he closed his eyes tight.

"Indeed it is," Snape admitted as he reached for a tin cup to pour the baking soda water over the boy's head.

He made Harry stay in there for almost an hour, but the boy's complaints soon died down as he became accustomed to the water and the baking soda began to help the itching.

Afterwards, Snape drained the tub and then stepped outside to let the boy rinse off with clean water. Snape left only cool water running, not wanting to risk hurting Harry's skin with hot water, and Snape waited impatiently while Harry splashed the water onto himself, griping that the new water was too cold.

"It's the same temperature as the bath was," Snape told him from the hallway.

"Yeah, but I was used to that," Harry answered back. "This is cold. And I can rub aloe lotion on myself."

Snape rolled his eyes, but retorted, "Fine, but I'm supervising and I'm doing your back. You've got to get something on it or your rash will get worse."

"Will not," Harry replied crossly. He gingerly stepped out of the bathroom in fresh shorts, limping. "My feet hurt," he admitted.

"Maybe next time you'll think before you jump barefoot into plants and rub them all over your skin," Snape commented.

"I want the spell now," Harry insisted. Ever after the dabbing and the baking soda and cool water, his skin was red and bumpy, and his face was all splotchy.

"Fine," Snape took out his wand and said a spell Harry had never heard before.

Harry saw the glowing light leave the wand, and he reached up to touch it. But then all the itching and hurting and pain disappeared, leaving only quiet bliss. Harry gave Snape a crooked smile and promptly fell forward.

Snape lunched forward just in time to catch him, but Harry was almost dead-weight in his arms.

"Come on, walk to the bedroom," Snape instructed. He kept his hands around the boy's ribcage, but Harry just grinned and his head lolled loosely as his legs bowed against the floor.

"Blasted nuisance," Snape muttered as he raised his hands up under Harry's arms and lifted him enough to carry him into the bedroom. Once they got there, Snape tried to sit him down on the bed, but Harry rolled over and started wiggling towards his pillow.

"So soft," Harry gurgled as he reached one weak hand out for his pillow. "Com'ere pillow, come to Harry."

"I've got to get lotion on you," Snape tried to wrestle him back into a sitting position, but Harry refused to sit up. "Stop moving, you stupid brat. There!" Snape slapped him hard on the rear, his hand popping against Harry's shorts.

Harry glanced over his shoulder where Snape had struck him and then up at Snape. "Ow," Harry said blankly as almost an afterthought because that was what he always said when Snape smacked him. "Ow, ow. Are you still spanking me? Or not . . ."

Yawning, Harry reached for his pillow again, but Snape growled and reached for the bottle of aloe.

"You're getting this whether you want it or not," Snape poured out a generous amount of lotion and set to rubbing it into Harry's back. Harry tried to pull away, but when it began clear that he wasn't going anywhere, he finally leaned against Snape and stared listlessly at the wall as the man applied lotion to his limbs.

At one point, Snape glanced down at him. He found Harry's head balanced against his shoulder, the boy's hands lying limply against Snape's side. Snape shifted, and Harry looked up at him. The green eyes were glassed over from the potion, but Harry smiled up at him, an exhausted and confused smile, but Snape's jaw tightened, his teeth clenched together.

"Almost finished?" Harry asked softly.

"Almost," Snape choked out the word.

Content, Harry leaned his head back down on Snape's shoulder. "Good, I'm tired."

Snape was rather rough with the last bit, slapping lotion against Harry's feet and grinding it in, but Harry, of course, was oblivious to the pain.

Once finished, Snape got him to lie down on the pillow. Snape covered him up, tucking the quilt under his chin.

Harry was almost asleep, but Snape could not resist. "Harry, what do you say?"

"What?" Harry opened his eyes in confusion. Why wouldn't Snape just leave him alone? "Oh, thank you."

"What else?" Snape asked, his voice hard.

Harry could not open his eyes so he said what he hoped Snape would want to hear. "I don't hate you."

"And?" the voice cut through Harry's beautiful peace, jarring him once more.

"I love you," Harry mumbled, tightening his hold on the pillow.

He heard someone stomp out of the room, and then Harry thought he heard something breaking, but he knew nothing but the darkness and his weariness.

--

Harry opened his eyes, and the first thing he noticed was the itchiness. He wanted to scratch so badly, starting with his face. He raised a hand to his nose, but Vampyr gave a sharp bark.

"It's itching," Harry protested as he reached for his glasses. As the room came in focus, he looked down at his bare chest to see a pink rash all over his skin.

Harry let his breath out. "Poison ivy. Ugh, I got it all over me. Where's Snape? He's going to be a prat all day about – what time is it anyway?"

Harry peeked out of the window and found the early morning sun shining though the trees. "It's morning? I must have slept for fourteen or fifteen hours. I'm hungry – are you hungry? And I'm itchy."

Harry slipped on a loose shirt and trousers and padded barefoot out into the hallway, Vampyr right behind him.

At the bottom of the steps, Harry stopped short, causing the dog to skid to a stop right behind him. "Snape?"

Snape sat in the living room in the clothes he had worn the day before, his face haggard and unshaven. His eyes were cold and hard, and at his feet, broken pieces of wood and glass lay scattered. Harry realized that the front door was open, and though the open door was closer than Snape was, Harry cautiously stepped to the living room, stopping at the edge of the broken glass.

"I'm itching," Harry explained. "Can you help me?"

"Nothing can help you, Potter," Snape said bluntly, his voice bitter but dull. "And me - I've died enough for all of us."

"What are you talking about?" Harry felt faintly annoyed. His back was itching and he longed to rub it against the doorpost.

"Leave," Snape ordered. "There, the door's open. Go, get out. Leave me."

Harry took two fast steps towards the front door, but then he stopped. Coming back to the living room, he said, "I don't know where I am. I don't know how to find my relatives. And I don't have shoes. And – and I covered in rashes and it hurts. Can't you help me?"

"Didn't you hear me?" Snape raised his voice. "I'm letting you go. Isn't that what you wanted? You hate it here, you hate me, you hate everything about me. There's the door – get out."

Harry felt a surge of contrariness rise inside him. It was just like Snape to offer to let him go when Harry needed his help. And even he found where he was and somehow made it back to Privet Drive, Harry didn't want to sit in Dudley's second bedroom, ignored and covered with itchy bumps.

"No," Harry declared, "I'm not leaving."

Snape leapt to his feet, and Harry jumped back a step in fear.

"I said get out," Snape ordered. "Out, go! Now! Leave."

"I won't," Harry decided, trying not to show how scared he felt.

Snape strode towards him, and Harry grabbed onto the doorpost with both hands.

"No, I'm not going," Harry cried. He felt strong hands on his upper arms, and he squalled, "Ow, that hurts."

"Then let go," Snape commanded.

Harry tried to hold on, but Snape soon yanked him away from the post and began dragging him to the open door. Vampyr was barking, but they both ignored the dog. Harry decided that now, if ever, was the time to throw a tantrum. He had never thrown a real tantrum, but he had seen Dudley throw enough of them to guess at how it was done, and now that Harry had nothing to lose –

"No!" he screamed. He began kicking bare feet out, twisting his body back and forth against Snape's hold, screeching at the top of his lungs. "No, I won't go. I'm staying. You monster, let me go. I'll hold my breath until I die! I won't go."

Harry felt himself topple backwards, and he realized Snape had tossed him out the door onto the broken flat walk outside. Harry was sure that it was supposed to hurt when he hit the stone walk, but he was too involved with his tantrum to register pain.

Snape slammed the door shut and locked it, but Harry was up on his feet and pounding at the door by the next second.

"No, I won't be thrown out," he screamed, slamming the sides of his hands and arms against the wood. "You let me back in, you bastard. I'll rip your throat out and your ears off and I'll pull all your dirty hair out, you snake."

Getting no reply, Harry jerked back to the stone walk and began grabbing at the round stones as the edge of the walk. He flung one stone at the house, but it just bounced off. The next stone cracked the front window, and the third broke right through. The sound of breaking glass was beautiful, and Harry began hurling stones at all the glass panes.

The glass kept breaking and breaking, but the door did not open.

Harry felt pressure building behind his eyes, and he knew if he let himself, he would fall to a heap in front of the door and break into sobs. So he tried the last thing he could think of. He didn't care if Snape hurt him or yelled at him as long as he opened the door and let him in.

"I hate you!" Harry screamed, his own voice hurting his ears. "And my mum hated you, too, you –" and Harry let loose with a word that was awful in both Muggle and Wizard settings.

The front door jerked open, and Snape demanded, "What did you say?"

"You heard me, you –" Harry repeated the word.

"Oh, you've done it now," Snape growled through clenched teeth. "You should have taken your freedom when you had the chance."

He scooped up Harry effortlessly and carried him back into the house. The front door slammed, and the deserted road in front of the small house fell silent again.


	13. Chapter 13 Close

The front door slammed shut, and Snape jerked Harry, up forcing the boy to balance on his toes

Disclaimer: Do not own or make any money.

--

The front door slammed shut, and in the middle of the hallway, Snape jerked Harry, up forcing the boy to balance on his toes.

"Where" Snape bellowed the word into his face, "did you learn that word?"

Harry wanted to scoff – after all the crazy mind games they had played with Snape almost insane, one swear word got him all riled up? But Snape's hold was tight on Harry's still-tender skin, so he blurted out,

"I don't know. On the telly or in London. Somewhere."

"If I ever hear you say that word again, especially at Hogwarts, you will be missing your tongue. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, wincing at his chafing skin.

"Good," Snape let him down. "First thing, we're taking care of this rash."

He dragged Harry into the living room, picking him up so he wouldn't step in the broken glass. Since the front windows had been smashed, the floor was covered with more glass and the rocks that Harry had flung.

Snape sat him down on a chair. A potions vial filled with dark liquid was nearby, and Snape uncorked it and commanded,

"Open your mouth."

Harry did, and Snape poured the potion in.

It tasted awful – big surprise there – but Harry swallowed it. His heart was still hammering from his tantrum, but having Snape near helped to calm him though Harry had no idea why. But he knew the moment Snape carried him inside that everything would be all right.

Making a face at the taste, Harry looked up at Snape, wondering what he had taken.

Another second later, and Harry felt the itchiness disappear from his body. He glanced down at his arms and saw the rash disappear.

"The antidote," Snape explained. "While you were falling apart outside, I Apparated to Diagon Alley and bought this."

Harry wanted to explode and demand why Snape hadn't done that yesterday and saved him all the torment and itchy skin. But Harry also feared that, now Snape had healed him, he would throw him out again. Harry gripped the arms of his chair tightly, watching Snape warily.

"But I see while I was on my errand, you broken my windows," Snape growled.

"You could have told me," Harry protested. "I would have sat here quietly while you went to fetch it. But you threw me out and – and – I don't see why –" Harry's whole face ached horribly and he could barely form the words. "I'm trying so hard – and you're so mean – and I don't understand why you have to be so – so mean and – and – angry at me –"

Harry's chest was tight, and his breath rasped in his throat.

"Just start crying and get it over with," Snape ordered. "I don't have time for your theatrics. I should make you leave now that you're healed."

Harry did the only thing that made sense at the time – he balled his hands into fists and brought them up hard into his forehead. The pain helped, but he felt crazy with rage and fury and loss and hurt and every awful thing he could think of. He wanted it to end – he wanted out, out of his own body and his miserable feelings.

"Stop it, Harry," Snape ordered.

Harry ignored and pounded his forehead again. He would beat himself black and blue and bloody and then he would really feel nothing but . . .

"I said to stop," Snape bellowed. "If you don't stop –"

Harry hit himself so hard his eyes glassed from the pain and he nearly knocked his glasses off.

"You impossible –" Snape snatched him up and fell into the chair, flinging Harry over his left knee.

Harry felt a moment's relief as he fell over Snape's knee – if Snape was spanking him, at least the man wasn't abandoning him. And Harry thought he could endure anything but Snape leaving him.

And then the first swat brought him back to reality. Harry did not try to hold onto anything, physically or mentally. At the second swat, his eyes filled with tears and he started sobbing by the third.

He felt Snape hesitate, but Harry did not even try to stem his tears. If anything, he cried even harder.

"You don't try to hurt yourself," Snape told him sternly.

"No, that – that – that's your –" Harry tried to say that was Snape's job, but he couldn't get the words out.

"You quiet down and stop fighting me," Snape ordered, holding Harry still. "I have never seen such appalling behavior. Screaming at me, breaking my windows, cursing, and then trying to punch your own head."

Snape spanked him again and again and again until he had landed sixteen impressive smacks on Harry's bottom. Then he stood the boy up, holding him by the arms.

Harry was a mess – tears streaking down his cheeks, and his hair disheveled and his lips trembling. Snape stared at him, hard, cold, and unbending.

"I have one thing to say to you," Snape's grip tightened around the boy's thin arms.

Harry waited fearfully.

"I hate you." Snape's voice was stony.

Harry blanched, making a wet gasping noise through his tears.

"I hate you so much," Snape said. "I hate that you look like him. I hate that she died to protect you. I hate that you have her eyes. I hate you so much – I could not hate you more than I do right now."

Harry thought he would be sick.

Snape shook his head in bitter disgust. "I hate you," he ground the words out one last, bitter time.

Harry closed his eyes, praying he would wake up at any moment find it was all a dream because he could not bear it another moment. He waited for Snape to slap him, to strike him across the face.

But the slap never came.

And then Snape pulled Harry to him. Shifting him up to sit on his knee, Snape hugged Harry tight to him, pressing the boy's head against his chest, protective and strong.

Harry had never felt more lost in his life, but he clung to Snape, digging his small hands into the man's shoulders and drawing closer and closer to him. Snape did nothing to push him away; instead, the man lifted his left hand to press on the side of Harry's head, through the unruly dark hair, holding him like a frightened little child who needed protection from the big, scary world.

Harry had no idea what they would do next or where he would go, but he felt safe in Snape's embrace. In a very disturbing way, he thought he needed Snape just as much as Snape needed him. Harry had no idea how he had become so dependent on the man that hated him so much, but he did not care.

"I don't want to leave," Harry sniffed into Snape's shirt.

"I know," Snape said quietly. He used his own sleeve to wipe Harry's face, brushing away the tears. "But why would you want to stay here with me? You've seen the monster I can be. I'm – I'm ruined, Harry. I loved your mother and then I betrayed her. I swore loyalty to Dumbledore, but I hate him for not trusting me. I promised to protect you, but I kidnapped you. I've done my best to see that you were unhappy, and any other child would have cracked long before this. Harry, you need to leave."

"No," Harry shook his head stubbornly, "I won't. Even if you take me home, I'll come find you. Even if I have to search all over Britain – I'll find you."

"It's not safe for you to be here," Snape insisted. "What if I go crazy and hurt you?"

"You won't," Harry protested. "You've tried, and I'm still here. I'm not leaving."

He hugged Snape tighter and pressed his head against the man, determined to show Snape that he was serious.

"You can't –"

"I'll leave when school starts," Harry said stubbornly. "That's in a few weeks, but for now, I'm staying here. I don't hate you anymore, and you're going to learn not to hate me. It's only fair."

Snape paused, then relented, "Fine, but come schooltime, you leave this house forever."

_We'll see,_ Harry thought, but he only said, "All right."

"No more tantrums?" Snape's voice lowered slightly with an edge of sternness.

"No more tantrums," Harry promised. "Are you going to . . . ?"

"Spank you again? Probably."

Harry did look up at that. "Why? I won't be bad."

"When you do something dangerous or something that could hurt you, I have every right to spank you," Snape retorted. "I admit I was cruel to you that first night and later I might have taken things a bit too far –"

"Like dumping me in a dungeon?" Harry pouted.

"In the cellar," Snape corrected. "And I only did it because you were being disrespectful. And then you started swinging from trees by your suspenders."

"I was running away," Harry ducked his head into Snape's shoulder so he didn't have to look at the man. It was completely bizarre, but Harry felt calm and at ease. As long as he and Snape were talking, as long as Snape continued to hold him, nothing could hurt him. "I'm not going to run away again."

"You better not." Snape shifted and glanced over at the living room floor. "Look what you did to my house."

Harry finally lifted his head. "I can clean it up," he offered.

"You'll cut your fingers and drip blood everywhere," Snape sneered, sounding more like himself.

Harry sighed and squirmed off Snape's knee. He was exhausted, but it was still morning, and Harry thought some food might help him more than anything.

Snape pulled out his wand, pointed to the glass, and ordered, "_Reparo."_

The glass shook on the floor and then began leaping up. Most of the glass flew up to become solid window panes again, but the rest of the glass became empty potion vials, jars, and what looked like a bottle for firewhiskey.

"That was easy," Harry hugged his arms around his torso, wondering what would happen next.

"Indeed," Snape frowned. He stepped in the center of the rocks and made them disappear. "Come," he motioned with two fingers at Harry, "time for breakfast and then you are going to be working chores for the rest of the day."

"I don't want to work," Harry swiped at his face. It felt all dry and crusty, and his eyes ached.

"You will be working," Snape transformed one of the potion vials into a damp cloth. "And when you aren't working, it will be lessons and schoolwork for you. Just because you get to stay doesn't mean you get to have an amusing time. Besides, my garden is still a mess."

"Can't you fix that like you did the windows?" Harry asked as he slowly made his way towards Snape.

"No, because the windows were inanimate objects and the plants were not."

Harry finally reached Snape, and the man grabbed hold of his ear. Harry winced, more for show than actual pain because Snape held onto the side where it didn't hurt quite as much, and waited.

"Did you straighten your room before you left? Bed made, clothes picked up, teeth brushed?" Snape asked as he began wiping Harry's face.

Harry shifted, trying to draw away from the cloth, but Snape wouldn't let him. "I wanted to get something for my rash. I'll go straighten up now."

"You know the rules – no coming downstairs until your room is straight," Snape scolded.

It wasn't a rule, but Harry was used to Snape making up rules on the spur of the moment and lecturing Harry for not following the new rules.

"I'll go up and do it now," Harry volunteered.

"Yes, you will, and I'll be fixing breakfast. Do you like eggs and kippers?"

Harry nodded as Snape let go off his ear.

"Well, you're having plain porridge for breakfast."

Harry knew he should have seen that coming, but he thought quickly. "Then please, please don't put any cream or honey on it. I hate them. Sugar, too."

"Upstairs," Snape ordered.

Harry scampered up the stairs and went to his room. Though he had left it only about twenty minutes ago, the sight of the plain bedroom with his bed and the black figurines and tin soldiers beside the bed was the best thing had ever seen. Vampyr trotted up a moment later, and Harry ran over to him.

The dog leaped up, probably to put his front paws on Harry's shoulders, but he was too big, and Harry bumped backwards onto the floor with the dog on top of him. It hurt a little, but Harry reached up to wrap his arms around huge black dog. He gave a playful growl and started wrestling with the dog. Vampyr just pushed him down to the floor at first, but then the dog began to get into the spirit of the game.

Vampyr was a little too strong to really play with as he kept nearly crushing Harry, but it was fun all the same. But then Vampyr put his paws on Harry's shoulders and began to nuzzle his snout around Harry's throat.

"Oh, stop!" Harry tried keep from squealing. "That tickles. Eee, don't!"

The dog stopped and began licking Harry's face; Harry reached up to scratch the back of the dog's neck. He hoped that no matter what Snape did Vampyr would always be his friend.

"You better finish up and come down," Snape called from the stairs, "or your breakfast will be thrown out the window."

"No, I want it," Harry called. "Let me get the dog off me. Oh, come on, Vampyr. I'm hungry, and I still haven't made the bed."

Snape turned from the bottom of the stairs and went back into the kitchen. A bowl of steaming porridge sat in front of Harry's seat along with a glass of milk. Snape stared at it for a second, and then he added a dash of cream and a spoonful of honey to the porridge. Snape stirred them in and tapped the spoon on the side of the bowl before putting it in the washbasin.

_I hate you._

What an awful thing to say to a child.

Snape's words kept echoing through his head. Why had he said them – why had he told the boy he hated him? When Harry had told him the same thing, Snape had been livid. Hearing those words from the boy, Snape had felt the same helpless anger he had experienced when James and his friends bullied him. Of course, it was stupid to let a child make him feel that way, but still . . .

What was wrong with the boy? Any other child would have been an emotional mess, but Harry –

"I'm here," Harry ran into the kitchen, Vampyr right behind him. "Can I eat?"

Snape turned to look at him. "Stop running and wash your hands." He got some meat to feed the dog while Harry plunged his hands in the soapy water and then wiped them on a dishtowel.

Harry sat down at the table and began shoveling up the porridge as fast he could. So hot and creamy and sweet and thick.

Snape sat down with a cup of hot tea as he watched the boy eat. There was something annoying about the way Harry crammed food into his mouth, an eagerness to satisfy his hunger while pretending like he had some manners. Snape had the feeling that if he wasn't there the brat would have put his face into the bowl and eaten like an animal.

Snape opened his mouth to tell Harry to get on the floor and eat his food like a dog, but for some reason he didn't. He did, however, throw a napkin at Harry and snap at him to sit up and slow down and stop being such a pig.

Harry finished the bowl and looked up for seconds, and Snape gave him more, but without any extras. Harry made a face at the plain taste, but Snape got up to get some more tea.

When he turned around, he caught Harry with his hand in the sugar bowl, trying to steal a large sugar cube.

"What do you think you're doing?" Snape roared.

"Come on," Harry protested, "you made me all upset this morning. You could at least let me have one sugar cube."

"No sugar," Snape pried the cube out of Harry's hand, marched over to the rubbish bin, and threw it in.

"I live here now," Harry protested. "This isn't my relatives where I have to steal food at night – I should be able to get food when I'm hungry."

"You have plenty of food," Snape stalked over to the table and took the sugar bowl off. "You don't need any sugar."

"You can't watch me all the time," Harry muttered.

Snape whirled around, but Harry was eating the porridge hastily.

Snape got another cup of tea and sat down. Though he would never admit, he was running out of ideas of things to do to the boy.

"You're not calling me Father," Snape said suddenly.

Harry froze with the spoon halfway to his mouth. "Are we still playing that?"

"We weren't playing anything," Snape insisted.

"We were pretending," Harry argued.

"We were not pretending!"

"You said we were going to pretend one thing until it became real for me," Harry stood his ground. "It's not real for me yet if you have to keep reminding me, so we're still pretending, so there!"

"Do you want to stand in the corner?" Snape demanded.

"No," Harry sighed over his empty bowl, "I'll keep pretending."

"We are not pretending!" Snape bellowed.

"Fine, but fathers don't throw their sons out the door," Harry shot back.

"Yes, they do."

"Your – your father kicked you?" Harry blinked. "Like you just did?"

"No, he turned me out the moment I came of age," Snape clenched his teeth together. "He – he – just forget it. Are you done? Why don't you go outside?"

"To get started on the garden?"

"No, just go play," Snape waved towards the door.

"All right," Harry got off his chair and headed for the door.

"What do you say for breakfast?" Snape prompted.

"Thank you, Father," Harry said calmly. He looked right at Snape. "And I mean that."

A moment later, Snape stood by the window, watching one dark-haired boy romping in the back yard with a dog as big as he was. Harry was careful not to step in the mud from the plants. Vampyr seemed to be a little on the rough side, and as much Snape liked to see the boy suffer, he wanted to make sure the dog did not hurt him.

Where would they go from there? Would it be easier to pretend that it had never happened, the whole awful morning?

Yet Snape could not forget the way Harry had felt in his arms, a scared little boy needing comfort and protection, desperately looking for a father figure.

And that thought scared Snape to death.


	14. Chapter 14 Planting

AN: I know I haven't written on his story for a while, but I'm still working on it. I hope this chapter pleases all my reviewers and faithful readers.

Disclaimer: I do not own.

--

Harry peeked over the top of his book. Across the room, Snape was sitting, still scowling. Harry ducked behind his book again.

He read a few more lines – something boring about potions and poisons and antidotes – and then he peeked over the top of the book again. Still scowling.

Harry sighed silently as he pretended to read. The last three days had been fairly quiet, ever since Harry thrown his tantrum, broken the window, and gotten spanked. Harry had gone over the talk they had had, the hatred Snape had spewed at him and then the way the man had hugged him, too. A part of him hoped Snape would bring the matter up again, but Snape remained cold and silent.

For the last three days, Snape had been rigid and austere, making Harry complete several hours of lessons everyday along with twenty to thirty minutes of chores. The chores were the regular, tedious kind such as washing dishes or sweeping the kitchen along with making his bed and picking up his clothes each morning. So far Snape had made no mad outbursts or wild accusations, just been a normal, stern man who made him go outside every afternoon, have quiet times in his room, clean his plate at every meal, and go to bed each night by nine.

All very, very boring in Harry's opinion.

Snape mean and nasty could be awful, but at least he kept things interesting. Harry had grown used to Snape's mind games and horrid accusations; though Harry would never admit it to Snape, he sometimes liked the feeling of being a captive trapped under a wicked wizard's roof, powerless to get away. At the Dursleys, in the dim light of his cupboard under the stairs, Harry used to read _Kidnapped_ and _Treasure Island_ and imagine adventures where he was chased by pirates or kidnapped by evil men only to fight them all and be the hero in the end. Why couldn't Snape keep acting like a villainous pirate?

Harry peeked over the book again.

"Read your book," Snape told him.

"I am," Harry protested as he looked back at it. When Snape said nothing, Harry decided to push him, "It's boring."

No answer.

"It's _really_ boring," Harry pressed further.

"Unless you want an hour in the corner, you'll be quiet and read," Snape ground out.

Harry thought for a second. Then he loosely knocked his foot against the footstool, knocking the stool on its side.

Snape jerked his head in Harry's direction, glaring at him.

"Sorry," Harry said, not quite able to keep a cheeky note out of his tone.

"Keep reading," Snape frowned, returning to his own book.

Harry tried to sit still; he imagined that he was sitting in Potions class beside Ron and Hermione. Hermione would try to pay attention, but Ron would wait until Snape's back was turned and then start a tic-tac-toe game in their writing books.

Harry slowly reached to the side table and managed to snitch a small pencil without Snape noticing. Holding the book against his knees with one hand, Harry started a game of tic-tac-toe. It took him two games to realize that playing against himself wasn't much fun. Tucking his tongue between his teeth, Harry began drawing a line that curved at the end. It kind of looked like the top of a Snitch wing.

Harry didn't consider himself to be a good drawer, but his sketch looked close enough to Snitch for someone to recognize it. In the empty space at the bottom of the page, Harry started drawing a boy flying on a broomstick. It took him a while to get the boy's face right, and then Harry added dark spikes of hair to the boy's head. It kind of looked like him, but Harry hesitated a moment before adding the scar to his forehead.

He wished sometimes he didn't have the scar. No, he wished a lot of the time he didn't have the scar. It was one of the reasons he kept his hair long, but Snape had shaved off his hair, the git!

Harry reached up to feel if his hair had grown any longer. And then a cold hand closed around his fingers.

Surprised, Harry looked up to see Snape standing over him. Snape reached for the book, and Harry tried to hold it down with his free hand. Snape got it from him of course, and Harry held his breath while Snape glowered at the book.

"Writing in a textbook?" Snape was ominous, and Harry squirmed, trying not to look guilty. But a part of him wondered what Snape would do. Writing in a book didn't seem a spankable offense (Harry hoped), but maybe Snape would come up with a creative punishment, like breaking his toys again only to fix them later or making him black the stove again just so Harry could get himself covered with blackening powder again.

"We do not draw in books," Snape growled. "Up, time to go outside."

"Can I play with Vampyr?" Harry asked eagerly.

"No, you're going to replant the garden you destroyed," Snape set the book aside and tugged Harry out on his seat.

"Do I get to pretend to be somebody?" Harry asked as he went along with Snape. Every fourth step, Harry dragged his feet, making Snape have to keep pulling him as if Harry were a naughty boy who would not follow along easily.

"Pretend to be whom?" Snape sneered at him.

"I don't know – I once read a Muggle book about a boy and girl who had a secret garden and planted things."

"You're not pretending anything out of a Muggle book," Snape said sharply. "In fact, you don't get to pretend at all today. You're being punished."

"Everyone draws in books at school," Harry retorted, but he ducked past Snape to dash into the backyard. The sky was overcast, but the wind blew strong.

"Then they should all be whipped," Snape snapped. He pointed to the beds where Harry had destroyed the plants. "I cleaned out the old plants with magic, and I want you to plant new seeds in the beds. Make little holes in the ground, four inches apart, and put one seed in per hole, and then cover it up. After you're through with the bed, water it thoroughly. Put in as many rows and columns as you can fit. Vampyr will be out here to make sure you don't run away."

Harry looked up, startled. "But you said I could leave. Remember, the other day?"

"Oh, Harry," Snape scoffed, "did you really think I would let you get away that easily?"

"You wouldn't have?" Harry blinked.

"Still such a stupid boy," Snape mocked. "You should know by now that I'm never letting you go."

"Never?" Harry looked up. "Not even to Hogwarts?"

"That – that remains to be seen," Snape stammered. He looked uncomfortable and then he marched into the house.

Harry spent a few minutes dallying about the garden, pretending to search for the trowel and then splashing his hands in the watering can. Vampyr did not seem to mind as he lay under a tree and watched Harry lazily.

Once he started planting the seeds, Harry loved the feel of the warm dry earth against his damp hands. His fingernails became filthy by the fifth seed planting, but he kept wriggling them deep into the dirt.

Ninety-three seeds later, Harry was bored with planting and wished he had stayed inside reading. The air was hot and sticky, and he considered going to pour a bucket of pump water over his head to cool down.

"You're planting them crooked," Snape's voice boomed over the garden.

Harry glanced back to see Snape leaning out the window. "No, they're straight," he called back. "They look crooked because the ground is uneven."

"The ground is not uneven," Snape shot back. "Pay attention to what you're doing."

Snape shut the window.

Harry glared at it rebelliously. He waited until he was sure Snape wasn't looking, and then Harry began flinging seeds by the handful over the rest of the bed. The seeds fell haphazardly over the bare dirt, tan specs against the brown earth. Then he dashed to the water can, grabbed it with both hands, and lugged it over to the bed. He poured water over the bed, soaking the dirt.

After pouring all the water from the can, Harry went to the pump to fill the can up again. It took him three trips to soak the bed enough to bury the seeds within the loose dirt. Done with the garden bed, Harry flung a handful of water at the dog.

Vampyr lifted his head to whine, but Harry grabbed the can and held it upside, dumping the rest of the water over his sweaty hair. Filling the can up a few inches, Harry dashed over to the huge dog and poured water over Vampyr. With a growl, the dog leapt up and pretended to snap at Harry. Laughing, Harry ran across the grass as the dog chased him.

On the third circuit around the garden, Vampyr caught him and wrestled him to the ground. Harry laughed and squirmed as the dog playfully nuzzled and worried him with its ugly snout. Harry managed to crawl away and run a few more feet before the dog caught him again.

After the chasing and wrestling wore Harry out, he settled down beside the panting dog and leaned back against the warm, damp fur. Eyelids heavy, Harry watched the clouds blowing over the sky, patches of blue sky appearing and disappearing randomly. Harry liked it when beams of sunlight shone bright and strong through the clouds, like fingers of gold light.

Harry reached over to grab a handful of grass and let the green blades fall through his fingers. He wondered what his friends were doing. Somewhere, Ron might also be lying on the grass and enjoying the warm day. Harry thought he would give anything for a handful of Bertie Botts Beans or a warm chocolate frog to eat while talking with his friend.

Sometime later (a few minutes or even an hour), the back door opened and Snape stalked out.

"You finished the planting quickly," he frowned.

"I worked fast," Harry lied, not getting off the ground.

"You're all dirty. And wet. Did I say you could get wet?"

"Can I climb a tree?" Harry ignored Snape's question.

"No, you can't. Last time you climbed a tree, you nearly broke your neck."

"I was trying to run away that time," Harry yawned. "I won't this time."

"No!" Snape retorted. "Inside. Wash up and then I want you in the living room. I want to quiz you on your reading of the last few days."

"Aw," Harry groaned. "I didn't know there would be a quiz."

"There will always be a quiz. Up, off the grass. If your clothes are filthy, you'll be scrubbing them all night with soap and cold water."

--

"Put a little more effort into it," Snape directed from the hallway.

Harry scowled, but said nothing. Standing barefoot in boxers and an undershirt, Harry stood over the tub full of hot water, scrubbing his clothes with soap on the metal washboard. He didn't think he had that many clothes, but since he had come to Snape's house, somehow he had accumulated half a dozen pairs of trousers, ten shirts, and multiple pairs of underwear along with a few undershirts.

Earlier, Snape had fixed supper and scolded Harry for trying to take a second serving of pudding, calling him a greedy child and then giving him two more large spoonfuls of pudding and insisting he finish every bite. After cleaning supper and reading in the living room for an hour, Snape had dumped all Harry's dirty clothes in the tub, filled it with hot water, and told Harry to get to scrubbing.

Half an hour of scrubbing, and Harry's fingers felt like prunes. He had amused himself for the first twenty minutes with pretending to be a scullery boy forced work until his hands were raw. But now he was ready to shuck the whole project and go play with his toys or Vampyr.

"You're not scrubbing hard enough," Snape criticized from the doorway, frowning at all the water splashed on the floor.

"I'm trying my hardest," Harry objected. "Why can't you have a washing machine?"

"There will be no mention of Muggle contraptions in my house," Snape barked out.

Harry glanced up, concerned, but seeing Snape's normal frown, he went back to scrubbing. Up and down the washboard, feeling the round metal runners under the wet clothes, soap slick on his wrinkled fingers, back beginning to ache – Harry kept working.

He reached forward to grab another shirt. But his bare feet slipped on the water on the floor, and Harry pitched forward into the bathtub. His torso went into the water, his head ducking underwater for a second. He reached out a wet hand to grab the side of the tub, and he shakily balanced against the tub, a sea of wet, soapy clothes beneath him.

A moment later, Snape grabbed the back of his neck and bent him farther over the water. Harry cringed, waiting for the sharp slaps to fall on his bottom. One second passed, two seconds, three –

Harry glanced over his shoulder. "Sir?"

Snape kept a tight grip on the back of his neck, angling the boy's thin body forward. He held him there for another second before commanding, "Try to be more careful. You could have hit your head on the edge of the tub."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, unable to think of anything else to say. He felt relieved that he would not be smacked, but he knew better than to say it out loud.

"Let's get you to bed," Snape pulled Harry up to stand straight. "Brush your teeth and get ready for bed."

Harry went to the sink to get his toothbrush, and as he brushed, he watched Snape clean up the clothes. The water drained from the tub as the clothes lifted up out of the tub and wrung themselves dry. Snape conjured up a wooden clothes rack and the clothes flew through the air and then spread themselves over the rack.

With a swish of his wand, all the water on the floor gathered into a puddle and began to roll across the floor. Harry stopped scrubbing, the toothbrush still in his mouth, as he watched the water run up the wall and then over the window sill. Harry grinned against the toothbrush. Sometimes magic surprised him.

"Keep brushing, and then I'm inspecting your teeth. I don't think you brushing long enough."

"Say the man with the ugly teeth," Harry said, but with the toothbrush in his mouth, the words were too distorted to make any sense.

After he was through, he had to stand in front of Snape and bare his teeth while Snape frowned. The man put his hand under his jaw, tilting his head up.

"Your teeth are crooked."

"No, they're not," Harry suddenly felt defensive over his teeth.

"I'll be straightening them out later," Snape pulled his hand away. "On to bed, young man."

As Harry changed in his pajamas, he wondered how Snape would straighten his teeth. It sounded horribly painful, but Harry knew Muggles straightened their teeth with braces. Hermione's parents were dentists; she probably knew more about it then Harry did. But braces took several years to straighten teeth . . . what if Snape decided to move them all at once?

What would it feel like to have his teeth start to move in his mouth? For a second, Harry pictured Snape casting a spell and all his teeth jumping out of his mouth and then jamming back in a straight curve. What a wonderfully horrible idea!

Harry pulled on his night shirt and scrambled to bed as Snape came in. Harry could not be certain, but he wondered if sometimes he thought up worse ideas than Snape could ever imagine.

Harry pulled up the covers and snuggled down into the bed. Snape walked farther into the room, looking like he was about to say something important. Harry watched him expectantly, but Snape seemed to change his mind.

"Go to sleep," Snape told him.

"Yes, Father," Harry yawned. He looked towards the window where the last summer light still lingered. "I didn't see Hedwig today. Is she all right?"

"Vampyr ate her," Snape snapped.

Vampyr, already in his usual spot on the floor, lifted his head and growled.

"He did not," Harry shook his head.

"Fine, I killed her," Snape retorted.

"You didn't kill her – why would you kill an owl?" Harry felt slightly upset at the idea of Snape harming his bird, but he knew the man was trying to rile him up. "She's outside, flying around."

"Then why did you ask me?"

"I don't know," Harry sighed. "Sometimes I want to talk about normal things."

A shadow passed over Snape's face, but he only said, "Good night."

Harry went to sleep in minutes, but he awoke a few hours later. His room was dark, and he guessed Snape had gone to bed as well. Harry felt oddly anxious for a second, an odd fluttering in his stomach, but he stayed in bed. Not once during his stay had Harry ever gotten out of bed before dawn break, but he knew Snape would be furious if he caught Harry sneaking around in the middle of the night.

Harry lay back down, closing his eyes and forcing himself to take deep breaths. He dozed off in a few seconds, but the same feeling remained in his stomach as he drifted off.

The next morning, Harry found his clothes all dried and he dressed quickly before making his bed and hurrying downstairs for breakfast.

Snape was making toast in the kitchen. "Sit down," he commanded.

Harry went to sit in his seat and waited.

Snape stalked over to the table and set down a plate in front of Harry. The plate contained two pieces of stacked toast, and stuck through the middle of them, a tiny white candle stood straight up.

"Harry Birthday, Harry," Snape ground out.

Harry blinked completely surprised. How could his birthday have snuck up on him like that? He was twelve now – twelve for over eight hours without know it.

Snape took his wand out like a man about to make a grim execution. A flame flickered at the end of his wand, and he lit the candle.

"Make a wish," he said in a flat voice.

Harry looked at the lit candle and then closed his eyes.


	15. Chapter 15 Wish

AN: Finally another chapter – end of semester and Christmas just about killed me.

Oh, and someone commented that my time line is off because Dobby came after Harry's 12th birthday. From the second movie, I remember Ron wishing Harry happy birthday when they picked him up in the flying car after he had been locked up for a couple weeks after Dobby. Either way, just pretend that my time line makes sense. And if you can't pretend that, then the Harry of this story judges you.

Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

------

It was his birthday! He had been twelve for a whole night and morning without realizing it. He looked down at the candle in the toast and shut his eyes.

Make a wish, choose a wish, think of the best wish he could.

Opening his eyes, Harry leaned forward to blow the candle out.

"What did you wish for?" Snape growled as he went back to the stove.

"Huh-uh," Harry shook his head, "it won't come true if I say."

Snape brought a bowl of porridge to the table and slapped it down in front of Harry. "Eat that. And don't expect any presents, either."

"I don't," Harry reached for the pot of honey to spoon on the porridge. "I never get presents. But sometimes I get Dudley's presents once he breaks them. I could play with them all I liked, as long as I didn't look too happy. It's hard, you know, trying to look sad while you're playing. That's why I usually played in my cupboard or outside, away from the house. If they couldn't see me, I could have all the fun I wanted."

"You must hate them," Snape observed as he sat down across from Harry with his own food. "You must wish them all dead."

Harry stopped, his spoon in mid-air. "No," he said slowly. "Not really. I don't like them, but that's not the same as hate, is it? I hate Voldemort for what he did to my mum and dad. I don't feel the same way about my relatives."

Snape looked about to say something, but he hesitated and then said, "Drink all your milk."

After a few gulps, Harry went on, "I don't think it's right to hate people. You can not like people and call them names or wish you didn't have to see them. But hate – that's wrong, isn't it?"

"Not always," Snape said darkly. "And I said the other day I hate you. What about that?"

"You don't really hate me," Harry countered. "Not as much as I hate Voldemort. You couldn't."

"You're right," Snape admitted, grudgingly. "But I didn't like you when I brought you here."

"That's all right," Harry began scrapping the last of the porridge out of his bowl. "That's just you being Snape."

Snape snorted, but he sounded amused.

Harry finished the last of the toast and held out his plate and bowl. "Please?" he asked.

"You can get it," Snape motioned to the stove, "but be careful and don't spill any."

Very slowly, Harry carried his plate and bowl to the stove and ladled up two scoops of porridge without spilling a drop. He grabbed another piece of toast and headed back, balancing the dishes in his small hands.

As he climbed back in his chair, he ventured, "If today's my birthday, do I have to wash the dishes?"

"Yes," Snape barked.

"Do my chores?"

"Yes."

"Water the garden?"

"Yes."

"Go on a walk?"

"Yes. What?" Snape looked up.

"I want to go on a walk," Harry insisted. "With you. And Vampyr. All three of us on walk."

"There'll be no walk," Snape decided.

"Then I'm not doing any chores," Harry argued. "And I'll try to run away and you'll spend all day looking for me."

Snape threw down his napkin, furious.

"It's my birthday," Harry protested. "What did you do on your twelfth birthday? I bet you had fun."

"I did not. For my birthday, my father –" Snape broke off, his dark eyes flashing. "Never mind. Fine, we'll take a walk. After dishes, chores, and watering."

Harry tried not to look too please.

"But after the walk, you're staying in your room for a while to give me some peace."

"Twelve is too old for quiet time," Harry objected. "Can't I stay downstairs and read if I'm quiet?"

Snape frowned and scowled and did all his usual displeased expressions before he growled, "Every other day you go upstairs for quiet time."

"All right," Harry agreed. Snape was not very good at remembering things; Harry felt confident he could trick Snape into letting him stay downstairs everyday. He had already tricked Snape into not hating him – no quiet time couldn't be that hard.

The chores dragged on forever. Snape kept insisting he actually wash the dishes with a rag, not just dip them into water. And then he had to sweep the floor though Harry argued he didn't see any dirt on it. And the last torture, watering the garden, took another eternity as Snape wanted the beds soaked, not just sprinkled with water.

Harry had been used to waiting for things – at the Dursleys, he could wait for hours and not complain, but with Snape, Harry found himself impatient and frustrated the longer it took.

"Come on already," Harry complained as he waited by the door. "It's nearly ten o'clock."

"Listen, you cheeky brat," Snape growled as he stormed down the hall, "one more word out of you, and I'll lock you in the cellar and feed you earthworms for dinner."

Harry sighed heavily, slumping against the door. "Pleeeeeease," he begged.

Snape looked around to see if he could find something to prolong the walk even further, but he finally nodded and Harry bounced up and down eagerly. "Good, I'm ready. You're not wearing that, are you?"

Snape glanced down at his black robes and then looked ominously at Harry. "And what is wrong with what I'm wearing?"

Harry stepped back, but said, "It will look odd to wear that walking down the road. The Muggles will stare."

"And how do you know we are near Muggles and not Wizards?" Snape's eyes glittered dangerously.

"Because this is a boring Muggle house for the most part. And wouldn't Wizards come visit you if you lived near them?"

"No one visits me," Snape snarled.

"Dumbledore did, but that's it," Harry replied. He felt rather smug, able to answer just as quickly and snidely as Snape could shoot out mean remarks. "See? I'm right."

"That's it," Snape grabbed him by the arm. "Let's see if a birthday spanking sobers you right up."

"I'm not drunk – I'm just excited to go out," Harry protested, confused over the word sober, but Snape was dragging him into the living room. Snape put one leg over a footstool and flung Harry over that knee. Harry dangled there, wondering how strong Snape had to be to take his weight over just one leg.

"You'll not be too excited after this," Snape threatened.

Harry tensed and then decided to throw caution to the wind. "Give me all twelve because I'm twelve now, not eleven."

He felt Snape's hand tighten on his back and then the first swat came.

As opposed to other spankings, this swat was ridiculously light, barely more than a pat. Harry wasn't even sure it was the first one until Snape landed another light swat.

"Is that two?" Harry demanded snarkily, feeling very brave.

"You want a caning on your birthday?" Snape demanded.

"No, I'll take this spanking," Harry decided. On impulse, he pretended to wince at the next few which came, even protesting, "Oh, no, that hurt – I can't bear the pain."

"Incorrigible brat," Snape muttered.

They got to number eleven, and then Snape delivered the last swat, a horrific wallop for Harry to grow on.

"Ow!" Harry objected. As soon as Snape set him on his feet, Harry reached back to rub the spot of the last spank.

"I trust we'll have no more nonsense," Snape looked down at him, a promise in his eyes to deliver even more if Harry pushed him.

But Harry could not be bothered to worry about Snape, not on his birthday. Any other day of the year, Harry would cringed under such a hard gaze or try to get away from Snape, but on his birthday, he would bear Snape's severity and not let it affect him.

"All right, I've been smacked. Can we go now? I want us to go a long ways before it gets too hot."

"You must think me a soft-hearted simpleton to agree to this," Snape growled as they headed back to the hall.

"No, if you were a soft-hearted simpleton, you'd let us have a picnic," Harry replied. Snape's expression clearly said no picnic, so Harry opened the door and ran out to the dirt road in front of the small house.

The sun was shining brightly, already warm and humid. Harry ignored it as he jumped around Vampyr, roughhousing with the dog while Snape made a big ordeal of locking the house (like anyone would want to pinch anything inside). Vampyr wrestled Harry to the ground and playfully stepped on his back to which Harry began to squall with the fun of the game.

"Enough!" Snape bellowed. "You will cease that noise at once or we will go back inside. I agreed to a walk – I did not agree to let you scream like a banshee the entire time."

As Vampyr backed off, Harry rose to his feet and dusted his clothes off. He walked beside Snape, with Vampyr on the other side. Harry glanced up at the tall man beside him. Trust Snape to look angry and bitter on a walk on a pleasant day. That old git wasn't happy unless people were miserable. Harry glanced at Vampyr next; the dog kept trotting right along, but stayed close to Harry's side.

Harry could be their prisoner. He was an innocent man condemned to the dungeons and he was being taken there by the evil warden and his monster. Vampyr had razor-sharp teeth and huge black wings that would let him fly, and if a prisoner tried to run, Vampyr would swoop down upon him and snatch the escaper up in his claws and fly the person back to the dungeons.

Harry had invisible chains on his arms that were heavy but he had to keep moving because Warden Snape kept a long stick in his hand that he would beat over the prisoners' backs if they did not move fast enough. Harry was trying to keep up, but his feet dragged the closer they got to the dungeons. He looked back to see if he could see the tiny house where he had lived happily with his family, but the house was gone and a dangerous forest stretched before them.

On the way to the dungeons, they would fight off gigantic spiders and monsters hiding behind trees and very vicious dragon that would wound Vampyr and try to slaughter Warden Snape. Only, Harry would throw himself in front of the warden and beat back the dragon with the chains around his arms. The dragon would roar and snarl and set the forest on fire, and Harry would have to battle him with his arms still chained, in a fiery forest.

He would finally jump on the dragon's back and wrap the chains around the dragon's neck, strangling the beast until he fell to the ground dead. Then Harry would approach Warden Snape who hovered over his wounded Vampyr and Harry would explain that he had a gift: one drop of blood from his body could heal anyone. Warden Snape would reluctantly take out a knife and cut a small wound in Harry's finger. A drop of blood would fall on the dying dog, and Vampyr would jump up fully healed. Then Warden Snape would be so grateful he would free Harry and help him escape, and the three of them would flee to the mountains where no one could find them and live happily ever –

"What are you doing?" Snape demanded. "What are you walking like that and muttering under your breath?"

Harry looked up at him and realized he was pretending his hand was bleeding. Dropping his hand, he replied, "Nothing. I was just making up a story."

"We're walking, not making up stories," Snape told him.

"We could do both," Harry muttered. When Snape frowned, he protested, "Didn't you ever pretend when you were my age? Didn't you ever make up stories where you have adventures and save everyone?"

"Typical," Snape sneered. "You're the hero of your own stories as well."

"Anyone who makes up stories is the hero," Harry argued. "No one wants to be the person who stands around while the hero has all the fun. Besides, people care about the hero – otherwise the story would be boring. With a hero, the story wouldn't exist."

"Without a villain, the story would not exist. You have to have someone doing something evil or the story would be boring."

"Of course," Harry thought Snape was being rather stupid, "without a villain, the hero would just being living normally and no one would care."

"Maybe the hero would like to live normally and be happy," Snape suggested.

"That would be fine for him, but we want to see him doing something. Heroes who do nothing are boring. You should be happy – in my story, I saved you and Vampyr from a dragon."

"I would never need saving from you," Snape sneered.

"We all need saving sometimes," Harry said.

Snape was silent for a moment, then snapped, "Walk faster. We'll never get anywhere with you dawdling. Where are you going?"

"Look at this stick," Harry dashed to the side of the road and picked up a thick, dry branch. "It's a perfect sword. Find one and we can sword-fight."

"I will not. We're not picking up sticks. Harry, anymore of this nonsense and I'm taking you straight home for a long span– what are you doing now?"

Harry had picked up several thick vines. "I'm going to weave them together to make shield. If you have a sword, you need a shield. I'll pretend I'm a Roman gladiator in the coliseum, fighting off lions."

"Bite him," Snape ordered Vampyr.

The dog whined, but Harry objected, "No, wait. Vampyr can be a lion."

"You're not hitting my dog with a sword," Snape said.

"No, in the coliseum, I'll refuse to fight him and instead I'll tame him, and he becomes my protector. The roman king doesn't like that and he condemns me to die, so I have to escape with my lion and we flee into the wilderness with just my sword and have to fight off monsters together."

"Do your stories ever end?" Snape waited impatiently. "Every time I think I've finally gotten all the nonsense out of you, I find a whole new level of absurdity just waiting to come out. This pretending has to stop. You have to face reality."

"What is reality?" Harry whirled to face Snape, suddenly angry. "I'm stuck all summer with someone who doesn't like me? I'm alone without my friends and supposed to be unhappy all the time? Is that what I'm supposed to feel instead of pretending?"

"Fine, pretend all you like," Snape held up his hands in defeat. "Vampyr's lion and you're a gladiator."

"You were the one that made us start pretending," Harry shot back as he continued to twist his shield together. "I'm a work boy, I'm a school boy, I'm in a cellar dungeon – that was all your idea."

"It was," Snape admitted. "I can't fault you for something I started. No, use the vines to tie the sticks together. Here –" Snape drew out his wand.

"No magic – I want to do this myself," Harry insisted.

A few moments, he held up his shield: four sticks arranged in a square with vines tying them together. It was slightly crooked and one blow from the stick sword would break it, but Harry felt proud of his accomplishment.

"Onward, lion," he commanded Vampyr.

They walked miles that morning. Harry abandoned his sword and shield to find the perfect forked stick for a slingshot, and he flung stones at several large trees. Then he wanted to make a cart with round rocks for wheels. However, that proved too difficult, and he looked for big sticks to make crutches for himself because he was a soldier coming back from a war without a right leg.

Snape walked along, commenting once or twice, but mainly staying quiet. Vampyr was ready for any game Harry began, and the dog even held a stick in his mouth while Harry tied vines to each end and pretending that Vampyr was a horse pulling a chariot.

They stayed in the forest for the most part. Occasionally, Harry would see a cottage or small house, but no one came out to meet them nor did they see anyone on the road.

The sun rose high in the sky, and when they saw a babbling creek that ran along the side of the dirt road, Harry begged to wade in it. Snape grudgingly gave him permission, and Harry stripped off his socks and shoes and stepping into the cold water. The stones at the bottom hurt his feet, but he splashed in the water, laughing when Vampyr joined him.

Another mile, and the forest gave way to a large field and the creek poured into a lake, and Harry was allowed to go swimming as long as he didn't go too deep. When he emerged from the water, soaked and exhausted, he thought he had never been so hungry in his life.

They were miles from home, and Harry couldn't imagine going all the way back for food. He looked wistfully back up the road and then collapsed in the soft grass beside the boulder where Snape sat.

"Had enough of swimming?" Snape asked.

"Yes, now I'm just hungry," Harry sighed. A very wet Vampyr came to lie beside him, the dog also exhausted.

"I supposed we can have some food," Snape took out his wand and pointed at the grass beside Harry. A large cloth appeared along with containers of food and a pitcher of lemonade.

Harry's eyes grew big, but Snape snapped, "It's not a picnic, so don't even begin to think that. I brought food become I didn't want to listen to you whine how hungry you were."

Harry did not comment – he helped Snape open the containers and pour out the lemonade. There were sandwiches with meat and cheese, fresh tomatoes and carrots, and a big apple tart still warm that made Harry even hungrier to look at it. One container held meat for Vampyr, and they ate settled down to eat on the cloth.

Harry had three sandwich, a tomato, two carrots, two glasses of lemonade, and half the tart before he felt full. He lay on the warm grass and thought about sleeping when Vampyr nudged him. Jumping to his feet, Harry began chasing after the dog.

"I'm resting for a bit," Snape called after him. "Don't go too far."

For the rest of the afternoon, Harry played between the lake and the field. He tried to build a dam on the creek, and the water pooled up against his sticks, mud, and sand, but eventually the dam broke and all the water rushed out. Then he and Vampyr went frog hunting. They would spot several little frogs hopping about the mud, and Harry would creep up on them slowly, but Vampyr always got excited and rushed forward barking and the frogs jumped out of sight.

Snape sat on the boulder and read a book, and Harry did not see how he could do anything as boring as reading in such an exciting place, but it kept Snape occupied so Harry did not interrupt. He was afraid Snape might decide he was having too much fun and order him to sit still or something equally unpleasant.

Harry was still playing when Snape announced it was time to go home. Harry wanted to protest, but he felt utterly worn out so he put back on his sock and shoes. His clothes had dried in the heat of the afternoon, and on the walk back, he felt warm and tired. The walk home was faster than the walk out since Harry wasn't stopping every few minutes to collect sticks or stones, but it still seemed to drag on forever.

He couldn't stop yawning and he wished he were small enough to ride Vampyr. When the house finally came into sight, Harry thought he had never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life.

They went in and Harry slumped down on the stairs in the hall.

"No, we're having supper and then you're a getting a bath and going to bed," Snape told him

The clock said six-eighteen, but Harry did not protest.

He hungrily ate up supper (soup, bread, and greens) and tried not to yawn while Snape finished eating. Snape even made him help clear the table and the dishes weighed a ton in Harry's tired hands. He wanted to curl up in his bed upstairs, but Snape insisted on washing the dishes and then making Harry take a bath.

Harry made the water a bit cooler that usual – his face, neck, arms, and feet were rather sunburned, and the cool water felt good to his red skin. He had trouble washing; his arms were tired and numb after playing so long and hard all day. Somehow he dried himself off and put on his night shirt before stumbling towards bed.

Snape had pulled the covers back and waited for Harry to climb into bed.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled as he sank into the pillow.

"You're all sunburned," Snape disapproved.

"Don't care," Harry couldn't even open his eyes. "Got my wish."

"Wish?"

"For a happy birthday," Harry sighed deeply. "I finally got it."

He wanted to say more, but the bed felt too good to his tired limbs, and he welcomed sleep that edged closer and closer. He thought he felt a hand on his head, brushing back his wet hair, but Harry was too far gone to know for sure.


	16. Chapter 16 Alone

Disclaimer: I do not own.

------

In the next week that followed, Harry had never been so bored in his life. Horribly, terribly, mind-numbingly bored. Snape did not do anything. He was not mean, cruel, snarky, vicious, sneaky, or anything else that made him interesting. He did not yell at Harry; he did not swat at him, berate him, scold him, judge him, sneer at him, nor criticize him. Snape had him study and do his chores and go to bed on time – nothing else.

Even quiet time every other day which Harry was sure he could escape became a non-issue as the day after his birthday, Snape told him to go upstairs.

"I'm too old for quiet time," Harry had argued. "And you said every other normal day so yesterday doesn't count."

"Go upstairs, Harry," Snape had repeated quietly.

Furious, Harry had stomped upstairs, banging his shoes on every stair. He had waited in his room expectantly, hoping Snape would barge in and shout out some dreadful punishment and Harry could protest and they would have something to do for the afternoon. But Snape stayed downstairs, and Harry finally settled into playing with his figurines and soldiers.

He had a feeling that twelve was really too old to play with toys, but since there was absolutely nothing else to do, Harry made up pretend stories about the dragon and unicorn destroying a town of tin soldiers.

When had Snape become normal and so boring? Harry wanted to talk to him, to get into the yelling matches they had when Snape would say the most hurtful things possible. Harry hated those hurtful things, but then Snape would feel bad afterwards and Harry would get hugged or spoken to kindly.

Harry was not sure why, but he was starting to crave the smalls bits of affection Snape gave him. Snape could be awful, but he would have moments of intense emotions when he said very strong things that showed Harry that Snape felt powerfully about him. After years of being ignored, Harry hungered for those moments, even if he were crying as Snape yelled at him.

He had a connection with Snape. Maybe because Snape had loved his mother; maybe because of the games they had played and the fact that he still called Snape Father; maybe because Snape was so lonely and Harry understood loneliness. Whatever the reason, Harry wanted Snape to talk to him, even if he said mean things.

Harry tried to initiate conversation, but Snape answered shortly and then fell silent.

A week after Harry's birthday, Harry was fed up. Snape had gone around all quiet, everything had been peaceful and calm, and Snape had not even tried to punish him. Snape had not laid a finger on him, not even a push towards the stairs at bedtime when Harry complained about going.

Harry wrestled and ran around with Vampyr everyday, letting the huge dog pounce on him and knock him to the ground, roughhousing for hours until Harry was exhausted. That was fun, but he missed human contact with Snape. Would it kill the mean, ugly bat to smack him on the back of the head once and while? Or grab him by the back of neck and march him outside when Harry groused about watering the garden? Or even nod at Harry when they were preparing supper together?

Harry glared at Snape across the living room, not even pretending to read his books.

Harry had read a book everyday, even long books 300, 400 pages long. Had Snape praised him for his hard work or declared that Harry had skipped pages because he was really too stupid to understand them? No, Snape had simply handed him another book and remained silent.

And it was not as if Snape were giving him the silent treatment; the man spoke when he had to, in a low tone, perfectly calm, which infuriated Harry to no end. Harry wanted yelling and excitement and angsty feelings, not calmness.

"I hate this book," he declared.

"You can get another one," Snape said from his desk where he was writing.

"I don't want to read," Harry said.

"You may go out in the yard and play until suppertime," Snape replied.

Harry set his book down with more force than necessary and went into the kitchen. Vampyr followed, ready for a romp outside.

"It's fun for you, maybe," Harry complained. "You're a dog. You just want food and water and someone to play with. I'm the one who's all bored and lonely."

Vampyr made a sad sound, nuzzling Harry's side.

"Well, he can't win," Harry announced. "I'll make him talk to me."

He looked around. He had to do something naughty and mischievous, but not outright harmful. Something to exacerbate Snape, not make him angry. Something that would annoy Snape, but could be cleaned up with magic fairly easily.

Harry smiled deviously. He crept to the cabinet where they kept the cleaning supplies. He took out the blackening powder for the stove and slowly opened the top.

Vampyr gave a short bark.

"Shh," Harry motioned for him to be quiet. "I know what I'm doing."

He began to sprinkle the black powder on the floor. It fell and lay on the floor, shining and dark against the wood. Harry began to walk around the kitchen, shaking out the powder. In two minutes, he had sprinkled powder all over the floor and the tin was still half full.

Putting away the tin, Harry stopped to grin at Vampyr. "This is the fun part."

Harry reached out with one shoe and slid his foot across the floor. It left behind a wide, thick smear of black. Harry swiped with his other foot – another smear. He began dragging both feet over the wooden floor.

Eight minutes later, the whole kitchen floor was covered in black smudges, smears, and footprints. It looked awful.

Harry grinned. Snape, who always wanted the kitchen tidy, would lose it. Of course, Snape could clean up the floor with a few swishes of his wand or make Harry spend all evening scrubbing it up, but just the sight of it would rile Snape up to no end.

Trying not to laugh, Harry tiptoed out to the garden with Vampyr. The dog had gotten his paws all in the powder, but seeing as he was black, Harry thought Vampyr could get it off on the grass without too much trouble.

"All right," Harry rubbed the top of the dog's head affectionately, "when he sees it, he's going to start yelling. Then I'll yell back and he give me some horrid sort of punishment. But I can pretend to cry or get all upset, and then he'll feel sorry. You'll see."

Harry leaned his head on the dog, wrapping his arms around the hulking body. From his sideways viewpoint, Harry could see the garden where he had planted all the new herbs after destroying the garden. Harry felt a tiny twinge of remorse at how awful he had behaved, ripping up the plants and the weeds. And Snape had been decent afterwards, getting all the poison ivy off him.

But the garden looked wrong. Harry raised his head back up so he could see correctly.

Then he sucked in a sharp breath.

The garden was wrong. The plants had finally broken the ground, and half the garden had green shoots in straight lines and rows. The other half had flowers scattered carelessly where Harry had flung them after he got tired of doing them right.

Snape would be irritated when he saw the kitchen floor. He would storm outside and see his garden with half the flowers planted wrong.

Harry bit his lip in fear. One naughty prank, Snape might let go by with a few scolding words and perhaps a swat or two to remind Harry to behave. But something like this, willful disobedience when Harry was actually fixing something he had destroyed –

"I can't stay," Harry whispered. He hugged the dog one last time with cold hands, and then Harry ran.

He climbed the tree limb and got over the wall. He was careful to reach the trunk of the tree before trying to climb down. He was not wearing the suspenders so nothing caught as he shimmied down.

Vampyr barked sharply, jumping up to see where Harry was going.

Harry reached the ground safely and ran for the road. He kept running, casting fearful glances over his shoulder, expecting to see Snape charging after him any moment. But the road behind him remained empty.

Still panicking, Harry turned and ran into the woods. He ran until he could not see the road anymore, until he was completely surrounded by trees with the grey sky overhead.

Harry stopped, panting for breath. The woods were eerily quiet around him, the trees rustling. Scared he would turn around and find Snape behind him, Harry found an old oak tree and climbed up until he was about seven feet above the ground. He straddled a large limb and leaned back against the trunk.

What could he do now? He had done two bad things – three, now that he had run away. He would just have to live in the woods. That wouldn't be so bad, would it? People lived in the woods all the time and ate berries and roots and mushrooms. They slept on leaves and crawled in caves when it rained. They got water from streams and made clothes out of animal skins.

Harry looked around. He did not see any mushrooms or caves or streams or animal skins. Maybe he had to go farther into the woods to find those things.

He glanced to the right, the direction he would have to walk to go deeper into the woods. Harry had also heard scary stories about people getting lost in the woods, who were found dead, eaten by animals or starved to death.

Maybe he could live in the woods near the road. That would be a better idea. He could beg alongside of the road for food and clothes. Maybe he could even steal things from Snape's house when Snape went back to Hogwarts. Harry felt sad at the thought of living in the woods alone when Snape got to go back to school, but maybe that was the awful truth of the matter: you lived and died alone while everyone else got to have fun.

A padding sound made Harry jerk his head up. Vampyr was coming towards him, just the big dog running over the dead leaves.

Harry smiled; he would not be all alone. Vampyr could live with him.

The dog reached the tree. Growling, it leapt up and tried to bite at Harry's leg.

"Hey," Harry yanked his foot up, glaring down at the dog. "Stop that."

Vampyr barked angrily.

"He wants me to come back, doesn't he?" Harry shouted down. "Well, I know what's going to happen to me when I get there. I don't want to face the rage of Snape, so I'm not going back."

Vampur barked and growled and snapped, but Harry refused to budge.

"This is what's called a stalemate," Harry informed the dog. "I won't come down and you won't let me go, so I guess we'll just stay here forever."

Harry proceeded to stay up in the tree forever – well, not forever, but certainly longer than he planned on staying up there. Vampyr got tired and lay at the bottom of the tree, panting.

Harry got stiff and uncomfortable on the limb. He tried switching positions, hanging both legs over the side, but that didn't help. He kept thinking of the comfortable chair he had in sat in to read; why hadn't he stayed in that chair instead of causing trouble? Even if Snape had found out about the garden, Harry would have been sitting in that chair, reading, when Snape barged back into the living room. Harry could have apologized, taking full responsibility for his actions. What was the worst that could have happened then? Snape yelling at him? Snape swatting him a few times? Snape ordering him out to garden to pull out the extra plants to straighten the rows? Even if all that had happened, Harry would be finished with all the unpleasantness and sitting down to a hot supper instead of staying in this stupid tree.

He was hungry – it had to be almost seven now. It was still bright outside, but night would come eventually, and Harry did not want to sleep in a tree. For one thing, he would probably fall out and hurt himself, and then Snape would be livid. Snape did not want him in trees at all since he had hung upside down from the one next to the garden. Ugh, that was the fourth bad thing Harry had done, and staying in this tree was number five.

With a sigh, Harry slipped off the tree. He hung from the branch for a second and then dropped the last few feet. But what Harry had forgotten was the fact that he had been in the tree for several hours and his feet had gone numb. When he dropped, pain slammed into his feet and legs, and he fell over in agony.

For a second, he lay on the ground, tears gathering, trying not to sob. Vampyr was beside him in a second, licking Harry's face and nudging gently against his shoulder.

"It hurts," Harry swallowed hard as he rolled over on his back. "Ow, that really hurts."

Vampyr kept trying to comfort him, and Harry finally sat up. It was his own fault he had dropped from the tree instead of climbing down – something else not to tell Snape ever.

Harry managed to get to his feet and began limping towards the road. Vampyr kept close beside him, and Harry wished he were a little smaller so he could ride the dog like a horse.

By the time they reached the road, Harry's feet were back to normal and he was back to dreading what Snape would do. Harry wished he could pretend to be sick or hurt, just so Snape wouldn't slaughter him. Harry meant to climb the tree to get back in the garden, but Vampyr herded him to the front door, pushing against Harry when he tried to head towards the back.

Harry reached for the door latch, praying the door was locked fast and then he would have to go back to live in the woods. But the door was unlocked and Harry trudged inside glumly with Vampyr right beside him.

The living room was empty so Harry dragged his feet back to the kitchen. Snape was sitting at the table, calmly eating soup and bread. The floor was spotless again, and a bowl of soup waited at Harry's place.

Harry stood in the doorway for a second, waiting for the storm to break upon him. But Snape kept eating as if nothing had happened. Harry started for the table, but then thought he had better wash his hands first. Then he sat down at the table and slowly picked up his spoon. Snape said nothing.

Harry's soup was still warm and he ate it all, careful to look down at his spoon bowl. Snape got up once he finished, and Harry cringed, but Snape went to get him some more food and then got up to get Vampyr a piece of meat.

Once finished with his second bowl, Harry carried his bowl and spoon to the wash basin. Outside the window it was still light, and Harry could see the water bucket beside the garden, meaning Snape had watered the garden himself. So Snape had seen everything and done nothing so far.

Trying not to show his terror, Harry began washing the dishes himself. After that he went to the living room to read though he had trouble concentrating on the words once Snape came in and sat down without a word. When the clock struck nine, Harry got up without being asked and went upstairs. He took a bath, careful to wash himself thoroughly, and got in his pajamas. He was in the middle of brushing his teeth when he saw Snape in the mirror, standing in the doorway grimly.

Harry nearly choked on the toothbrush, but he managed to finish brushing and rinse out his mouth. Then he took a long sip of water. He had barely set down the cup when he felt cold, hard fingers close around his ear.

Snape lead him out of the bathroom, down the hall, and into his bedroom. Harry went along, not even complaining at the awful grip on his ear. Snape let go of his ear and went to close the door, shutting Vampyr out in the hallway. Harry gulped as he realized the dog could not protect him from Snape's wrath.

Snape crossed his arms and leaned against the wall for second. Harry wanted to crawl under the bed.

Snape pulled out his wand and swished it. The hairbrush on the bureau leapt up and flew to Harry. Harry instinctively covered his head, protecting his face. The brush had a different target as it flew around him and firmly thwacked his bottom.

Harry squealed and jumped away. The brush followed, popping him soundly. Harry tried ducking and jumping and leaping away, but each time the brush found his rear and smacked him again. Harry flung his hands back to shield himself, sure Snape would not let the brush hit his hands. But rather than stop, the brush lowered a few inches and began popping against the back of his thighs.

"No-o-o!" Harry wailed, bouncing up and down on his toes in desperation. "I can't stand it – it's – ha!"

Struck with an idea, Harry dashed to the bed, dropped to the floor, and tried to crawl under it. He hoped there would be enough room to squeeze under and leave the brush behind. He managed to wiggle his torso under the bed. Then he felt himself being dragged backwards by an invisible force.

"Aahh," Harry scrambled to grab onto something, anything. He grabbed one of the bed feet and wrapped both arms around it, trying to pull himself back under the bed. But he was already far enough out that the brush could continue paddling him.

"Snape, make it stop," Harry yelled. "I don't want to be spanked. Please! I didn't do anything wrong."

The painful swats stopped, and Harry smiled in relief, glad that it was over.

"You didn't do anything wrong?" Snape growled.

Harry's smile dropped. Strong hands grabbed him around the waist and yanked him up off the floor. He was sat down on the bed and Snape loomed over him.

"You have been a naughty little boy and naughty little boys get the hairbrush when they act so atrociously. What on earth possessed you to blacken my floor like that?"

"That was just a prank," Harry confessed. "Just to – to be a prank."

"And the garden? All the plants flung about haphazardly?"

"Well, that was earlier when I was cross with you."

"And then you climbed a tree and ran away?" Snape crossed his arms. "So I had to send Vampyr to bring you back."

"He didn't bring me back. I came back on my own. I was going to live in that old oak tree forever, but I came back."

"You climbed _another_ tree?" Snape's eyes looked even blacker.

"You were being boring here and not talking to me," Harry mirrored Snape's stance, crossing his own arms. "I thought mucking up the floor might get you to talk to me, do stuff."

"You realize I'm about to beat the life out of you," Snape threatened.

"I already got the hairbrush," Harry pouted.

"Something's wrong with you. You have a death wish or suicidal tendencies. After all I've put you through so far, you thought it would be amusing to provoke me?"

"No, I just wanted you to be – you know. I would have cleaned up the kitchen."

Snape snarled something incoherent and sat down on the bed. He reached for Harry.

Harry leaned back. Then he gave in and started to lean himself over Snape's lap.

"What is wrong with you?" Snape snapped, reaching one hand out to smack Harry on the back of the head. "You beg me for mercy and the next moment you seem willing to take any punishment I dish out. Honestly, Harry, you are the strangest boy I have met."

Scrunching his face into a scowl, Harry pushed his shoulder against Snape hard. "I'm not strange. You're strange!"

"I give up," Snape threw his hands into the air as he leapt to his feet and began pacing. "I was a monster to you, and you were miserable. Now I'm trying to just let things go, and you're causing trouble and destroying gardens and pushing me. Have you lost your mind?"

"Maybe," Harry retorted. "I just wanted you to talk to me."

"For the last time, I don't care about you!"

"Liar," Harry stood up on the bed. He forgot he was just wearing a nightshirt and that his bare feet and knobby knees were sticking out. He forgot that Snape was much bigger and stronger. He forgot that he was just a little boy who had gotten himself into big trouble.

"You'll be sorry yhou said that," Harry yelled as he swung his fists towards Snape. He missed, of course, and fell off the bed. Snape caught him with one arm, and Harry hung on his arm a second, felling Snape's strength against his thin chest.

"Wicked, completely wicked," Snape declared as he swung Harry towards the bed.

A moment later Harry found himself flat on his back with Snape tucking the covers over him tightly.

"You obviously are very ill," Snape bend to tuck the edge of the covers under the mattress. "I will take your temperature and give you a Calming Drought and see that you get a full night's sleep. Tomorrow, you will rest and take it easy, if I don't keep you in bed all day."

Harry blinked away angry tears. "I'm not sick. I just want you to talk to me and – and hold me like you do sometimes. Why can't you do that? Why can't you like me? What did I ever do . . . to you?" Harry meant to say more, but he found himself unable to speak.

"Merlin, you drive me to insanity," Snape said as he yanked the covers up and pulled Harry in for a rough, firm hug. "There – you got what you wanted."

"That wasn't what I wanted. I want to stay here."

"You are staying here," Snape raised a frantic hand to his forehead. "I'm letting you stay. What more do you want from me?"

"I don't want to leave," Harry threw caution to the wind. "Even when we go back to Hogwarts, I want to come back for the holidays."

"What makes you think I'm letting you go back to school?" Snape asked bitterly.

"I want to stay here," Harry raised his voice. "All right? It'll be our pact. I don't tell everyone what you did to me, and you let me stay."

"Harry, Harry, you only have a little over three weeks and then school starts. Three weeks, and then you could escape me forever. Why would you want to come back?"

"Because you need me," tears spilled down Harry's cheeks. He leaned forward to wrap his arms around Snape and bury his face in Snape's shoulder. "You need me just as much as I need you."

Snape made a movement to pull away, but Harry refused to let go, holding on for dear life at the one thing he wanted, the only thing he had ever wanted with such fierce desperation that it scared him almost as much as the thought of losing Snape.


	17. Chapter 17 Days

Snape let Harry hug him for a second and then he put both hands around the boy and firmly put him back on the bed. "No more hysterics," he insisted with a stern look. "Go on to sleep and everything will look better in the morning."

"Fine," Harry sniffed as he lay back and let Snape cover him up. "But I'm not leaving. I'm staying."

"We'll see,' Snape told him. "Stop crying and go to sleep."

"I'm staying," Harry's face was tear-splotched and stubborn as he relaxed into the bed.

"I said we'll see," Snape snapped.

"You'll see because I'm doing just that," Harry replied.

"No, I'm making the decisions because I'm the adult."

"Yeah, but I'm the smart one."

"Why?" Snape demanded. "Why do you always have to fight me and try to get in the last word?"

"You try to say the last word, too," Harry pouted. "And you could be nice – I'm still hurting from the hairbrush."

"You deserved that," Snape told him, but his voice had lost its usual bite.

"You deserve the hairbrush to hit you on the head," Harry said.

"Mmmmm!" Snape growled low in his throat.

"He's mean to me," Harry leaned over the bed to talk to Vampyr. "He's mean, and I've been very good."

"You naughty liar," Snape scolded, "you've not been good."

"Maybe but –" Harry paused as he yawned. He lifted a hand to rub his eyes and then continued, "you could be nicer."

"Go to sleep," Snape told him again.

"Not tired," Harry grumbled. "Sit down and tell me a story."

"What?" Snape looked disgusted. "You must have me confused with someone who actually likes little children."

"No, I have you confused with someone who is not an evil bat. Other people might say you're a bad person, and you might think you're a bad person, but I know you're a bad one. Wait –" Harry squinted in confusion. "That came out wrong. Other people might think you're bad, and you say you're good, but I know – no, wait."

"Good night," Snape pulled the covers tight over Harry again. "Step foot out of that bed and you'll see what a bad person I can be."

Snape turned the tamp off, but Harry continued in the dark,

"Other people might say you're bad, and you might think – no, Snape come back. Let me try again. Mean git."

Yawning his head off in the dark, Harry closed his eyes and let exhaustion over take him as he heard Vampyr settle as well.

------

To Harry's horror, the next two weeks flew by. He tried to make the time slow down by staying up late (in bed of course because Snape would march him upstairs when it got too late and Harry protested) and he argued every quiet time (Snape let him stay downstairs one day, but put his foot down for the rest) and he jumped up as soon as the morning light came through the window and demanded breakfast (Snape glared at him over several cups of coffee while Harry gobbled down breakfast).

Snape did not seem especially horrid though he watched him like a hawk. He kept Harry busy with chores or reading and even started the nasty lessons again, though this time he concentrated on the subjects taught at Hogwarts.

"After all," Snape said with relish, "we only have a few more days before you have to return to school. All the other children studied over the summer, except one little spiteful, naughty boy who would not study."

Harry hated Snape's patronizing tone, but he nodded along and kept reading whatever boring text Snape had assigned.

The worst was the calendar Snape kept in the living room where Harry studied. Snape made a point every morning of marking off the day before. Harry watched as 22 days became 21, 20, 19 and so on down to eight days left.

In the two-week time, Harry got punished only twice. The first time was a morning with 18 days left when Snape told Harry to get a broom and sweep the hallway.

"I don't want to," Harry protested. "I'm not your servant anymore."

"I said to get the broom and sweep," Snape said sternly. "It's part of your chores."

"I'm not doing anymore chores!" Harry had yelled out, his voice echoing though the living room. "This isn't my relatives' house where I'm a slave!"

Snape had grabbed him, pulled him over to the chair, and tipped him over one knee.

"No, Snape, don't," Harry squirmed over that firm knee.

"You've been far too long without proper punishment if you think that's appropriate behavior," Snape replied. "You're about to get twelve swats and then you're going to apologize to me and go get the broom."

"I'll get the broom – but don't spank me!" Harry pleaded.

Snape replied by laying down the first swat. The next eleven that followed were firm, but not cruel. However, Harry started crying by the sixth, more upset that Snape was punishing him than the actual pain. Had he been over Uncle Vernon's knee or Aunt Petunia's, Harry was fairly sure he could grit his teeth and bear the pain. Nothing his relatives did seemed to hurt his feelings – he was used to them being generally awful. But Snape being upset with him – it made his chest ache and his throat close up and a few swats could unleash tears though he thought he was much too old to cry.

"There," Snape swatted him one last time, "are you ready to apologize?"

"Yes," came Harry's weak answer.

Snape pulled him up and turned Harry to face him. "Well?"

His eyes were blurry and his bottom lip was trembling, but Harry managed, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Snape demanded.

"Not sweeping."

"You never tell me no," Snape said, his black eyes hard. "You ever tell me no again and I'll take my belt to you."

It was harsh and awful, but Harry moved towards Snape.

"You want comfort after you were so horrible?" Snape scoffed, but he put his arm around Harry and pulled him close for a second before pushing him back and ordering, "Broom, sweep, then you can go outside to play."

"Can I play in the water with Vampyr?" Harry asked, sniffing once.

"As long as you don't track mud into house. And how about you pull a few buckets of water into the house so I can mop the floor?"

"Can you sweep the floor and I mop?" Harry asked, suddenly excited. "Mopping's more fun because you can use soap and make bubbles and pretend you're Cinderel – er, somebody."

Snape sneered at the idea of pretending to be Cinderellla, but he agreed, "Yes, I'll sweep, but you have to hold the dustpan."

As Harry went to get the broom and dustpan, he wondered why he didn't just ask Snape if he could mop in the first place. It seemed silly to get all upset over sweeping, but he was tired of Snape ordering him around and Harry wanted to see what would happen if he protested.

As it turned out, Snape used magic to sweep the floor, and Harry played with the water and soap for ab hour, making so many suds that when Vampyr ran through, the dog slipped over the slick floor, slid into the living room, and knocked over the table with the lamp so it fell and broke. Snape lectured him mercilessly for it, but then he relented and let Harry play outside in more buckets of water.

The second time Harry got punished, he contended that it was not his fault. The first time, he had talked back to Snape and maybe deserved to be scolded (Harry would never admit he should be spanked for anything). But Harry would insist to his dying day that the second was completely undeserved and a result of Snape's nasty temper. Well, sort of . . .

It was a hot day at the end of the two weeks, and Harry stared at the eight days left on the calendar before he had to go back to school. Snape had not talked about letting Harry come back, and Harry was sure at this point that he would be taken to Hogwarts still not knowing what would happen to him.

He was pretending to read his book, but he sighed heavily.

Across the room, Snape put his own book down. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," Harry replied. "But it's too hot to read. Can we go back to the field and the creek?"

"All you ever do is complain," Snape yelled at him. "You beg and take and demand more, ungrateful child."

"Fine," Harry sighed again and looked back at his book.

Snape gave him an angry glare but said nothing.

Harry read for another second and then he succumbed to the heat and sighed one more time.

"That's it," Snape jumped out of his seat and grabbed Harry.

"I didn't do anything!" Harry wailed as he found himself back over Snape's knee. "Not fair, not fair!"

Snape slapped his bottom hard and Harry responded by hitting his fist against Snape's knee.

Snape spanked him one more time and then stood, flinging Harry over his left shoulder.

"What did I do?" Harry squalled as Snape carried him to the kitchen and out the backdoor.

Snape said nothing but he swung Harry up in the air and dropped him into the full rain barrel. Harry sank down into the cold water (it didn't feel so bad after all the heat), but he came up sputtering.

"Are you going to keep up this cheek?" Snape demanded.

Harry held onto the side of the rain barrel with one hand and used the other to splash Snape with the rain water. "How's that for cheek?" Harry taunted.

Snape's eyes went big in that awful way, and he reached into the water to hoist Harry out. But rather than apologize from dropping him in there, Snape conjured up a stool, sat down, and placed a very wet Harry over his lap. The six swats that came next were hard, but Harry wasn't sure they hurt more or just sounded worse because they were on his wet trousers.

After that impromptu spanking, Snape ordered him to start weeding the flower beds. That was better than going back in to read in the stuffy living room, so Harry did that. His wet clothes soon dried, but he got all muddy and Snape made him take a bath that night which was doubly unfair because he had already gone into the rain barrel. So an undeserved spanking and two baths in one day just because Snape didn't like sighing – so mean!

But then there was only seven days left to Hogwarts, and Harry felt more scared than ever. He was out of ideas and plans and he had no clue how to change the mind of a regular adult, much less a crazy man like Snape. After a summer of Snape's insane games, Harry felt like he should know how to manipulate the ugly bat, but he felt more confused than ever.

Seven days – that was 168 hours, about – not enough time to do anything.

Harry waited and worried all though the day and by suppertime he was so nervous that he didn't want to eat when Snape put supper on the table.

"What do you mean you're not hungry?" Snape demanded. "Are you complaining about the food?"

"No, it's fine, but . . ."

"If you don't eat, then you're sick and you have to go to bed straight away with several potions to calm your stomach," Snape threatened.

"I'm not sick," Harry swallowed.

"You have ten seconds to explain and then it's a potion."

"It's about school," Harry hedged, staring down at his plate of food.

"You're going and that's finally," Snape said. "In a few days, I'll find you some robes and get the books."

"But it's time to talk about what's going to happen there," Harry felt dizzy, but he kept talking. "I – I've been gone all summer. What do I tell people that ask where I was?"

"I don't care," Snape said, but he did not look convinced.

"Can I tell my friends that had a quiet summer at my relatives' house?" Harry wondered. "Can I tell them that I stayed with you? What about Dumbledore? Does he know where I am? Does he care? Does anyone care? If they don't care, I get to come back here at Christmas because no one else cares."

"One question at a time," Snape sneered. "This is why no one likes you."

"Don't try to change the subject. I'm not going to get angry – I just want answers."

"Answers – silly little boys like you don't get answers."

"Fine, I'll ask Dumbledore when I get to Hogwarts. The first night, I'm going to walk up to the teacher's table, right past that Sorting Hat, and ask Dumbledore to tell me and the whole school what happened."

"Is this your attempt at blackmail?" Snape sneered.

"I thought blackmail had money in it," Harry frowned.

"Not always. You are blackmailing me. Not standing up to your Gryffindor status, are you?"

"No, 'cause I've been living with a Slytherin. Now tell me right now."

"All right," Snape gave in. "Dumbledore – Dumbledore knows that you're here."

Harry's mouth dropped opened. He felt a tremendous sweep of emotion and hurt and betrayal and –

"Now before you burst into hysterics, listen to me," Snape said. "It wasn't his idea. He got word the night I took you. He contacted me that night, and – and I was angry and we fought."

Harry said nothing, watching Snape with open eyes.

"I accused him of manipulating people and forcing – well, never mind all that. I managed to persuade him to let me keep you for the summer."

"And he agreed?" Harry whispered. He remembered how horrible Snape had been at the beginning of summer, the misery he had inflicted upon him.

"He agreed, but made me promise that you would be alive and unharmed by the end of summer. He knew your relatives' house was not a happy place for you, so he let me. Then you got sick and somehow he found out – I don't know how. He stopped by to see you, but I knew you would talk him into taking you away. So I hid you. I convinced him you were fine and then I put memories into a Pensive of you playing in the garden with the dog. He agreed you looked happy though I'm not sure he trusted me."

"Why should he?" Harry finally found his voice. "You manipulated everyone, not him. You're mean and cruel and evil and like breaking my toys. Well, I hope you're happy."

"I've never been happy," Snape retorted. "I've been miserable my whole life. I wanted you to feel what I suffered through."

"Your suffering isn't over," Harry shot back. "How's this for size? I'm living here from now on. I'm going to make you regret that you ever took me that night. From now on, Severus Snape, you're my father whether you like it or not."

"You cheeky –"

"I want better clothes," Harry continued. "And better toys and better food. This is yuck. And you're going to give it me or I'll tell Dumbledore."

"You're threatening me?" Snape looked outraged.

"I'm blackmailing you because I want money, too," Harry felt triumphant. "An allowance with a trip to a candy store every week."

"Of all the nerve –"

"And you can't say no because you wanted this," Harry went on. "You wanted me to come here – you bullied Dumbledore into letting me come. So blame yourself, old man. I'm here to stay. So there."

"You're going to be the sorriest, sorest boy on the train come next week," Snape warned. "Don't think I'm going to stop punishing you because I adopt you."

"You're – you're adopting me?" Harry blinked.

"How else do you think you can stay here? Really, Harry, you are the stupidest – oomph!" Snape bumped his chair back as Harry ran into him and wrapped his arms around Snape as tight as he could.

"I'm going to be adopted," Harry refused to let gp. "I never have to go back to that awful house. I can stay here with you and Vampyr forever. I get to be happy, not locked in a cupboard and ignored or treated like a freak, but live in a real house with a real family."

"You're horribly sentimental," Snape disapproved, but he did not push Harry away.

"I get stay here with you and Vampyr," Harry looked up at Snape and smiled. "Here in this crazy house."

"I'm not changing the house to suit you," Snape frowned.

"I like it just the way it is," Harry told him.

"All right, all right, enough nonsense. Go and eat your supper before I put you to bed without any."

Harry went back to his chair and took his seat, grinning from ear to ear.


	18. Epilogue

_Seven years later_

Harry grabbed two tea cups and saucers and balanced them on one hand while he grabbed the whistling teapot with the other. He set one cup and saucer before one chair and the others in the chair across from it. He poured the hot water over the loose tea leaves in the filter until the teapot was full. Then he left the tea to steam while he turned back to the stove. Sausage, eggs, and toast – just the way Snape liked them.

"Breakfast is ready," Harry called loudly over his shoulder.

"How many times have I told you not to yell?" Snape groused as he trudged into the kitchen. "And you've dripped water all over the table. Where's Vampyr? I told you to feed him first or else he'll be begging for our food."

"He's fed and outside," Harry assured him. "Stop grumbling and sit down. The tea's almost ready."

"Probably bitter," Snape sneered as he sat down. "You ruin a pot of tea quicker than anyone else."

Harry smiled as he turned back to the stove.

In the eight years, the kitchen had undergone a few changes, along with the rest of the house. They now had hot water pumped into a large kitchen sink, a full gas stove, and better cooking ware and utensils.

And where the house used to have four rooms with a hall and a single bathroom, there was now a built-on dining room and adjacent study downstairs. Upstairs, Snape still had his old room, but Harry now slept in a bigger bedroom over the dining room, and he had his own closet. There was a second bathroom upstairs and both were now fully modernized.

They had bought the property next door to build on to house, and Harry had worked in the summers with Snape to turn the unused land into gardens and walkways along with a piece of lash grass field.

Of course, Snape had fought against every single one of the changes, but Harry had pressed, and each year brought a new room or new bit of remodeling until the house was looking rather fine.

"Why are you up so early?" Snape complained as he watched Harry cook. "You don't have your ridiculous training today, do you?"

"No, Auror training starts again next week," Harry sighed as he dished the food out on the two plates. "And it's not silly. I've been working really hard this last year."

Snape sniffed disdainfully. "Oh, very hard, wasting your parents' money on fixing up this dump. What a bunch of nonsense."

"It looks better," Harry declared. "No reason for us to live in a garbage heap."

"I never lived in a garbage heap!"

"Dad, it's fine," Harry insisted. "Stop complaining. It makes you sound too old."

"Listen to me, young man," Snape pointed a finger at him. "You may think that you're a brilliant wizard now that you've turned nineteen, but I can still deliver a hell of a punishment."

"You haven't punished me since I came of age," Harry retorted. "And I still say that if I was old enough to drink fire whiskey on my birthday, then I was old enough to decide if I wanted to get drunk and vomit all over the flower beds."

"And I still say you deserved every last lick of the two dozen you got with my belt," Snape replied.

"Eat your food," Harry put the plate down in front of him.

A few minutes of silence followed until Snape said, "It's ridiculous, you and me paying to double the size of this house. We were perfectly fine in four rooms. A bit cramped when we had visitors, but I told you I don't like having people over."

Harry took a deep breath and looked at the older man. "I might as well tell you – tonight . . . I'm going to see her. And – and I'm going to ask her to marry me."

Snape stare for second and then grimaced. "That twit? You're actually serious about her? I forbid it."

"Dad," Harry said, trying not to sigh.

"Fine, marry who you like," Snape shrugged. "Go live where you like – I won't stop you."

"I'm bringing her to live here after we're married," Harry continued.

"You'll do no such thing!' Snape yelled.

Outside, Vampyr barked, worried at the loud noise.

"She's coming to live here," Harry said quietly. "I'm not leaving you alone, and I'm marrying her so she's going to live here."

"A woman in this house?" Snape seethed. "This is a bachelors' establishment."

"Not anymore. And my room is big enough for the two of us. And my old room – I was thinking about using it as a nursery."

"She's pregnant?"

"No, not yet," Harry wanted to laugh, but he forced himself to stay serious. "But in a few years maybe – come on, don't you want to be a grandfather?"

"I want no such thing. You ungrateful boy, I knew the moment I let you stay, it would be nothing but problems. You had to stay here – you begged me to take you from your relatives' house to come live with me. You climbed a tree and couldn't get down so Vampyr rescued you and then you asked to come live with me."

"I think you're remembering it wrong," Harry grinned over his cup of tea.

"Well, it's your word against mine and I'm always right," Snape said decisively.

Harry made no comment. In the years that he had lived with Snape, he had learned to let some things just pass. The first year had been hard, especially at school. But the years got easier as he got older, and by the time he was fifteen he got to have Hermione and Ron come and stay part of the summer, a tough thing to do because Snape did not like Hermione and Vampyr didn't like Ron.

Voldemort proved a problem, too, and Harry encountered several near-death experiences only to defeat him in the end. Snape had been frantic after every fight, and Harry came to expect a month of pampering interspersed with lectures and hard swats following the fights. Snape worried about him constantly, hiding his concern with gruff comments about how he didn't care about the miserable orphan left on his hands.

"Once she lives here, you can't tell her about the way you treated me," Harry decided. "Some secrets should stay between a father and son."

"You and your secrets," Snape huffed. "Always into trouble. You better be a perfect gentleman to her or I'll straighten you right out. I'm still master of this house, no matter how old you get. That's won't ever change. If you challenge my authority, I'll see how a good whipping and a week in the cellar help to change your mind."

"I love you, Dad," Harry said cheekily.

A pause, and then Snape admitted, "I love you, too, Son."

The End


End file.
